


Second Best

by sgamadison



Series: The Second Series [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-24
Updated: 2010-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney knows...he's done the math.  Atlantis *needs* a John Sheppard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Best

**Author's Note:**

> Story Notes:  
>  This is another really long story from me. I just couldn't shake a particular image and the story grew from there. There is a nod to Auburn's heartbreaking not-Peter Pan story in here as well.
> 
> This became the first of a series of loosely related stories known as the Second Series. With the exception of Second to None, which is a sequel to this story, all of the stories in the series can be read as stand-alone.

Rodney McKay sat down on the barstool and watched his target from across the brightly lit casino. Around him flowed the happy sounds of people having a good time: the perky chime of the slot machine as the cherries spun around, the cheerful ding-ding-ding of a winning combination coming up, the spontaneous "hurrahs" at the craps table, the sympathetic groans from the roulette wheel. The sounds of people on vacation, people at play. The lights and the upbeat noise masked the fact that too often some people risked too much, more than they could afford to lose and the losses were too great. The irony of what he was about to do was not lost on him. He could only hope that the fact they were all sitting in a casino meant the man that he'd chosen to approach was a bona fide gambler and be willing to hear him out.

God, he was so tired. He could not remember the last time he was this tired. Well, yes he could, but then it had been because the Wraith were imminently about to attack and he and his team were scrambling to find a way to defend the city against an overwhelming strike force. Then, like now, he'd gone without sleep for days at a time. Only then, he'd had the support of the entire city, had Carson ignoring his Hippocratic oath to keep him supplied with the stims necessary to get the job done. Now he had only the knowledge that Teyla and Ronon were reluctantly watching his back and that he was right, damn it. He knew he was right.

Now if he could only convince the man at the blackjack table.

The bartender pushed his drink towards him on a paper napkin and he looked at it without enthusiasm, purchasing a drink solely to retain his seat at the bar. Taking a sip, he turned so he could unobtrusively monitor the man at the blackjack table from the mirror behind the counter. Even though he'd come specifically for this purpose, the shock of seeing the man in civilian clothes, out of context so to speak, was greater than he'd expected.

For one thing, he looked exactly the same. Not unexpected of course, but somehow unnerving all the same. Same lounging grace, same shock of unruly hair sticking up in all directions. Same lazy smile aimed at waitress and card dealer alike. Same perpetual five o'clock shadow that made him look like an extra on Miami Vice. There were little differences though, Rodney thought as he watched the man play cards. There was something a little seedy looking about this guy. That patterned long-sleeved shirt for instance. He wore it turned up at the cuffs but not tucked in at the waist, an ugly loud print that the Colonel would not have been caught dead in.

Another wave of exhaustion threatened to cripple Rodney and he took a cautious sip of his drink again, feeling the welcoming burn down his throat. Stims or no stims, it had not been through his effort that the city had been saved. No, all of his best efforts had come up short and it was Sheppard who'd taken off in the gateship to save the day, with nothing more than a 'so long, Rodney', in his wake. (Rodney's brain sarcastically pointed out that Sheppard hadn't actually saved the day either, though by taking out a third of the attack force in one blow, he had bought time for the real saviors to arrive with the ZPM) He'd gone off that day to die for them all, only he hadn't died that day, he'd come back. He always came back. Until the time that he didn't.

Rodney's hand clenched the glass, feeling the now-familiar emotion tightening the back of his throat and threatening to cut off the air in his lungs. Stop it. That way lay madness. This would work. It had to work.

He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting at the bar, nursing his drink. He looked up in time to see the blackjack dealer sweep the table in front of him away, pushing a respectable stack of chips at the player in the ugly shirt. Rodney watched as Sheppard stood, collecting his chips, knowing he would now head off to seek out the kind of high stakes poker game where large amounts of money could change hands in a short period of time. Rodney knew that he had lost all of his original stake; that he was living in his car, that he owed some rather dangerous men a serious amount of money. His gambling now was about trying to raise enough money to pay his debts and stay one step ahead of the loan sharks. He knew that Sheppard had not eaten in over 24 hours and that the only reason he had been drinking so heavily while playing was that the drinks were free. He'd been watching this John Sheppard for several days, deciding whether or not to approach him. As the man got to his feet casually, heading for the door, Rodney stood to follow, throwing a twenty on the bar and walking away from the change. Now or never, McKay.

***

Okay, so this wasn't so bad. It wasn't the end of the world. John tried to convince himself as he made his slightly unsteady way off the casino floor but a sharper part of his mind, less affected by the booze, wasn't buying it. You idiot. You are so fucked.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Liquidating everything he owned after leaving the military, he'd still fallen short of the capital he needed to purchase his own plane for charter. Having a good head for numbers, he'd headed south to Florida and had been steadily building his funds at the casinos when a disastrous hand at cards created a major setback. He should have let it go then, taken the job as a cargo pilot in South America but he was too stubborn. He'd won before; he could win again. Only his famous luck seemed to have deserted him. Small steady losses drained away the rest of his reserves. Desperation made him bet when he did not have the money to cover the additional loss. Before he knew it, he was up to his eyeballs in debt to some people that would just as soon feed him to the fishes as not if he could not afford to pay. Feeling somehow that his luck was about to change again, he'd just staked everything he had on his last hand. And lost again.

You asshole. He had no sympathy for himself. The moment you start relying on luck, that's when the fickle bitch turns on you. He knew that. He knew the gambling was stupid and yet he could not seem to help himself. And now he was really in a fine mess. Sleeping on the beach again, or with whomever he allowed to pick him up at the clubs was no big deal. But losing the car over unpaid parking tickets was going to put a real cramp in his ability to leave town before someone came calling for the money he owed.

He jumped, heart pounding in his chest when someone grasped him by his elbow and spoke quietly in his ear. "Counting cards works better when you're sober."

For an instant, he thought he'd be made by casino security and that was the only reason he did not haul off and hit the guy holding him by the arm. He whipped around to face the man accosting him, pulling out of his grasp at the same time.

The man who had spoken to him looked nothing like what he expected to see. Neither a grim hotel employee in a suit nor some nameless hired muscle come to take him for a little ride. The guy in front of him looked pretty much like the average tourist. About his own age, short brown hair receding slightly from his forehead, intense blue eyes in a tired face. He wore an unbuttoned pale blue oxford cloth shirt over a dark grey t-shirt and jeans, his clothes hanging somewhat loosely on him, as though he either didn't know how to shop or had lost weight recently.

The man threw both hands up in a gesture of peace. "Relax, I'm not here to turn you in to the pit boss or call in your markers." A crooked smile lifted the side of his mouth, oddly engaging. "Actually, I have a proposition for you."

Of course you do. Oh well, it could be worse. The guy was kind of attractive in a geeky sort of way, and if nothing else maybe he could finagle dinner and a shower in the morning out of it. He was probably safer off the streets tonight anyway. He started to say, 'I'm all ears' but turned the word at the last minute to "I'm all yours," dropping his voice to a husky register as he spoke. Oh yeah, he knew how to play the game.

The man with the proposition blinked at him with a frown, as though he did not quite know what to make of him. "Yes, well," he began, only to pause. He looked around as though seeing his environment for the first time and then said, "This could take a while and is best done someplace more private. How about I buy you some dinner while we talk?" The guy started to move slightly down the hall towards the exit, motioning over his shoulder with one hand.

John felt the smirk come over his expression. Maybe his luck had changed. His mouth watered at the thought of food and the sex that would follow. "Okay," he said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

The patent relief in the set of the other man's shoulders told him once again that this was not about the money he owed anyone. "Good, good," the other man sighed, moving briskly towards the double glass doors at the end of the corridor, suddenly nervous and babbling. "My car's outside, I'm not staying at this hotel, I hope you don't mind? I thought maybe room service might be best..." He pushed through the doors, continuing to talk as he moved into the furnace-like heat of the night, complaining about the temperature and that he wouldn't have been wearing a long sleeved shirt except that the casinos were so damned cold. He even complained about the fact that there were still crowds of people cruising the sidewalks at this late hour.

He seemed to be filling the space between them with words. John didn't mind, some people were like that once they committed to a one-night stand. He let the words wash over him without really listening; the guy wasn't saying anything important anyway. Nice ass, though.

Silence fell briefly, awkwardly, between them when the other guy stepped up to the valet parking booth and presented a token to the man inside, the bright lights of the casino making it seem almost like daylight in the parking lot, washing out the cars into strange colors. John waited patiently, imagining what kind of meal he would order based on the type of car the other guy drove. Well, he said he was buying, right? A thick, juicy cheeseburger with all the fixings and some fries would really hit the spot right now. He glanced over at the other guy, who stood impatiently, rocking back and forth on his heels, humming under his breath as he clasped his hands in front of him and tapped his fingers together. Yeah, definitely a cheeseburger and fries kind of guy.

He was startled when the sleek, silver Mercedes pulled up in front of him and the valet stepped out, handing the keys smartly to the other man. Okay, maybe steak. No wait, lobster. Okay maybe steak and lobster... The man in the blue shirt got in the car quickly and then the window slid down to reveal his frowning face. "Are you coming or are you planning to wait for some impossibly rare cosmic event that is not likely to occur in your lifetime, like say, hell freezing over?"

John snorted and crossed in front of the Mercedes to reach the passenger door, the powerful beams of the headlights pinning him briefly in their glare as he did so. He preferred the pissy stranger over the uncertain one. It suited him better.

Inside the car, he ran an appreciative hand over the leather console after buckling himself in. The dashboard display glowed in neon red and electric blue, the intense readouts reminding him of a Hollywood version of a spaceship. "I'm impressed," he said, quietly amused. "No offense, but you seem more like a Dodge Dart kind of a guy."

"What? The car? No, not a Dart. Never a Dart." The driver gave a mock shudder and then looked exaggeratedly over his shoulder both ways before pulling out smoothly into the busy street. On the radio, Chris Botti was wringing soulful melodies from his trumpet on the late night jazz show. The Mercedes seemed to enclose them in a bubble of space and time; it was so well-insulated from the outdoor environment. "The car," the other man repeated to himself. "Well, yes, I'm partial to a well designed piece of equipment."

I'll just bet you are. Some little perverse imp made him reach out to change the station, sure that it would jerk the other man's chain. He punched through several stations, noting with satisfaction the other man's hands tightening on the wheel.

"Do you mind?" The other man finally snarled, changing the station back to the original by using the pre-set button. Knowing it was stupid to bite the hand that was planning to feed him, John could not resist changing the station again, pulling up a top 40 station this time. "Jeez!" The other man exploded. "Don't make me reach over there and smack you. Must you be this annoying? What are you, twelve? The pilot gets to choose the music." The driver was in the act of reaching for the radio when he froze. His hand hovered near the channel selector. Over the speakers, Kelly Clarkson sang of her Beautiful Disaster. The driver withdrew his hand slowly. John thought he noticed a faint tremor in his movement.

Hmmn. Odd. "Are you a pilot?" He felt the faint stirrings of interest, the idea that maybe he might have something in common with this guy after all.

"What? No. Not really." The driver seemed flustered again. "Figure of speech that's all. You know, the pilot gets to choose the music. The surgeon gets to choose the music. The head scientist gets to choose the music..."

"So which are you?" He meant to drawl but the words came out just a little slurred. Damn, now that he wasn't moving, the booze was starting to catch up with him. He hoped it wouldn't put too much of a damper on his performance tonight. Oh well, some food would help. "No, let me guess, you're the scientist."

The driver pulled his eyes from the road long enough to give him a sharp stare. "What makes you say that?"

John still had hopes of getting some dinner out of this guy, so he did not say the things that clued him in. He'd just admitted he was no pilot. The supreme arrogance could have made him a surgeon, but the odd lapses into nervousness and the overall questionable people skills made that seem less likely. There was a naiveté about the guy that seemed to go with 'geek', along with the expressiveness of his hands and his taste in clothing and cars. Instead, John merely shrugged. "Lucky guess."

 

***

John waited calmly in his alcoholic buzz for the other man to start talking again. He had fallen strangely silent after they left the car and during the ride in the elevator up to his room. The hotel was definitely more upscale than any that John had seen so far during his tenure in Miami and he looked around the room appreciatively as they entered, the other man tossing his keycard on the bureau along with his car keys and making straight for the phone. The room was an odd combination of neatness and clutter. Several small duffle bags were stacked by the door. On the table by the window were two laptops and various cables snaking out between them and over to the wall connections. At least half a dozen partially filled and empty paper coffee cups littered the room, along with empty cellophane wrappers. Another open duffle bag sat near the computers, several unidentified pieces of equipment were visible as well. The beds did not look as though they had been slept in. John had noted the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob as they had entered the room.

John's eye fixed lightly on the car keys where they had landed. He wondered if he was ready to add grand theft auto to his list of shortcomings. It would be a way out of town...

On the phone, the other man was once again nastily confident. "I know what time it is. I know you only offer sandwiches at this hour. But I'm telling you, if you fix my order, I'll make it worth your while. There's a hundred bucks in it for you. Yes, yes, you heard me right. No, one hundred." He flicked a blue eye over John where he stood fingering the hotel informational brochures, a quick searching glance with the intensity of a laser beam. "Two steaks, medium rare. You do know what medium rare means, right? Baked potatoes...okay fine, fries then. Two house salads. One with raspberry vinaigrette on the side. One with French dressing. And a couple of bottles of Molson." There was a pause and a heavy sigh. "Fine." Another glance in John's direction. "Make that Killian's instead. And no citrus anywhere on the entire tray. I'm deathly allergic. Okay. How long?" He glanced at his watch. "How long? You've got to be kidding me. Okay, how about an additional hundred if you get it here in less than that—say, a half hour? Okay, fine." He rang off.

John mentally filed away the information. The man knew what he wanted, was not afraid to ask for it and was ready to pay top dollar as well. John began to wonder just how long he would be in town...it took a second to catch up with him that the man had not asked him what he wanted to eat. Not that he was picky though, especially just now. There was nothing in the meal that he would turn down at this point, though he suspected from the placement of the order that the other man would lay claim to the salad with the dressing on the side. Killian's happened to be a personal favorite; the night was looking up.

"I'm sorry," the man was saying when John tuned back in. "They normally don't serve anything but sandwiches after eleven. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. I talked them into doing steaks, but they say it will take some time, maybe as long as 45 minutes."

"I'm sure we can find some way to pass the time." John smiled, slow and lazy, like a shark on sighting its dinner. He crossed his arms in front of him and grasped the edge of his shirt, peeling it off over his head in one single motion. He tossed it on the bed behind him, reaching for the buttons on his jeans as he toed off his shoes.

The other man's eyes boggled at his actions. "Um. What are you doing?"

John frowned. "Getting undressed." He had the fly nearly unbuttoned, revealing the dark swatch of hair at his groin as he began to shift the tight black jeans over his hips. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I can see you're getting undressed!" The voice jumped in pitch. "What I want to know is why you are getting undressed? Where is your underwear? Ohmygod, just what did you think I had in mind here?"

John frowned again, halting his actions and standing straighter, fly still open. The room spun slightly with his sudden movement, but he ignored it. "You invited me back to your room for food and a private conversation. You said you had a proposition for me. What am I supposed to think?"

"You...you....you thought..." the other man stammered, turning bright red before suddenly shaking his head. "Let me get this straight. You thought I was coming on to you?"

"You're not?" Whoops. This could be embarrassing.

"No!" It was practically a shout. "I just so happen to have something to discuss with you of a private and classified nature and I did not want to do so in a public forum like a restaurant!" His hands had somehow managed to convey 'private', 'classified' and 'public' while waving about his head. The other man broke off his open-mouthed stare to stalk in a small circle before halting to face John again. "So you think this was just some simple pick up? Some one-night stand? And you went along with it?" The incredulity in the other man's voice flicked like a whip over John's conscience and he felt his mouth flatten in a thin line in response to the other man's tone. "Wait... are you that hard up, that you would sell yourself?"

"We all sell ourselves, buddy. One way or another." He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, resolute in his determination not to hastily button up his fly. "Some people stay for years in a job they hate, just to pay the bills." Some people don't say what needs to be said because no one wants to hear it. "You can't tell me you've never kissed ass for grant money, right?"

"It's not the same!" The other man pinched the bridge of his nose tightly and stood, eyes shut, breathing heavily through his nose. His eyes suddenly flew open and he pointed at John. "Okay-okay-okay," he said rapidly. "You sit down over there. And stop taking off your clothes! I need to think." He waved in the general direction of the second bed and stalked over to the table where he opened one of the laptops and began typing furiously on the keyboard, pausing to peer intently at the screen before rubbing his face and typing again.

John was determined not to be the embarrassed one here, so he pulled out the pillows from under the bedspread and propped himself up with them against the headboard, sprawling negligently on the bed, refusing to re-button his jeans. He reached for the remote for the TV, only to be stopped by the positively lethal glare he received from the other man over top of the laptop screen. Fine. Whatever. Just for grins, he pulled open the bedside drawer and took out the ubiquitous copy of Gideon's Bible. Might as well start with Genesis...

He'd gotten as far as the plot by Rebekah and Jacob to deceive Isaac on his deathbed as to Jacob's identity when he couldn't help the internal snicker at the verse, "Behold, for my brother Esau is a hairy man..." because it reminded him of some skit he'd seen years ago. Was it Monty Python? No, no, it was the group Dudley Moore was in...Beyond the Fringe? Maybe...it was becoming a struggle to maintain his focus on the printed word, the Bible threatening to slip from his fingers.

The other man stood up abruptly and crossed over to the first bed, sitting on the edge in between the two beds facing him. "I want to apologize for the misunderstanding earlier." Oh shit, tell me I'm at least getting dinner before I get kicked out.

John eyed him warily.

"Maybe it would help if I explained why I asked you here." The man continued to stare intently at him and then broke eye contact to drop his chin and run his hand though his short brown hair before locking those amazing eyes on him again. "I was in the middle of some...delicate...trade negotiations with my colleague when he was suddenly killed." He blinked and for a brief instant John saw the pain of loss escalate on his face like a solar flare. "These negotiations are vital to the safety and continued work of a major project that we both were a part of—you simply cannot conceive of how important this is. The other party only wished to deal with my...with the leader of our team, my friend who died. You happen to bear an unbelievable resemblance to him. I think with some coaching, we could convince the other party that you were indeed the team leader—at least enough to seal this deal."

John closed the Bible and laid it on the nightstand in between the two beds. Well, that was certainly the craziest scheme he'd ever heard. He wondered about the nationality of the other party and what exactly they were negotiating for. Does it matter? He thought about the answer to that question. For the most part, it didn't. Besides, this geek didn't look like the fanatical terrorist type to him. "What's in it for me?"

The other man straightened, looking somehow both wary and relieved at the same time. "I took the liberty of looking you up before I decided to approach you. I have to tell you, my other colleagues think I'm insane, but I think this could work. Anyway, I know that you...well, you owe a lot of money in this town and have very little means of repaying your debts. I could make it financially worth your while."

"How worth my while?"

The blue eyes narrowed. "Very worth your while."

There was a knock at the door and the other man got up to let the room service person in while John surreptitiously re-buttoned his jeans. There was a flurry of activity by the door as the other man checked both the order and his watch before submitting to the exorbitant tip that he had promised. Dinner was served.

 

***

He woke to the sound of the faint, insistent beeping of a watch alarm somewhere in the room, hastily shut off. He was lying face down on a bed, completely naked, a sheet partially covering him. He practiced his usual routine of assessment when he woke in a strange situation and did not immediately remember the events that had led him there. He lay without moving, cataloging the sounds of the room around him, allowing the environment to fill in the details. He'd had a bit too much to drink last night, of that he was sure. And the bed he was currently sprawled over contained no one but him. The sound of air conditioning...another hot day in Miami. The sound of typing...wait a minute, now he remembered. The geeky science guy. And his weird plan to pass John off as his business partner.

He started to roll over but just then the radio snapped on with a click and Matchbox Twenty's version of Hand Me Down blared into the room. He heard a muffled curse and then the rapid movement of someone coming between the beds to shut off the radio. God, he hated mornings these days. He delayed acknowledging he was awake, wanting to put off any conversation with the stranger from last night as long as possible.

A soft knock at the door drew the attention of the other man away.

"Teyla," he said to the person he let into the room. "Thank god, I have some things I need to do this morning and I need you to keep him here until I get back."

"You haven't told him yet?" The woman's voice was beautiful in its cadence and gently castigating in its concern. He wondered if she could possibly be as beautiful as she sounded. His shoulder twitched involuntarily as he thought about rolling over to see, but something made him continue to play possum.

"I gave him the bare outlines last night," the other man's voice was sharp. "But he was too drunk to get the full picture. Not without some convincing details. Besides, he passed out after he ate. I've never seen him...anyone...go into a food coma like that."

"Rodney." Huh, so that was the guy's name. Figures. Geek. The woman continued to speak. "It is not too late to change your mind. We could go back to the city now and forget this entire plan of yours." Her voice was heartbreakingly gentle and for a moment, John wondered why until he remembered the dead guy. It must be nice to have someone care about your pain.

"Teyla, I know you think this is all about me, but it's not. Seriously, I've run the stats. We need him. Where's Ronon?"

"I gave him the money you had given me and sent him to get us all some breakfast, as I did not know how much longer we would be staying."

"Oh. Good. That's a good idea. No, excellent really. So when he wakes up," John could somehow sense the nod and gesticulation in his direction, "tell him to get a shower and that food is on the way. That should persuade him to stay until I return. I'll be back as soon as I can. You did tell Ronon he couldn't shoot anyone here, right?"

"Yes, Rodney." Teyla's sigh was long-suffering. John had to hide a snort into his pillow. On second thought, maybe you should get out of here before this Ronon guy shows up.

"Okay, okay, I was just checking. You know, this is not like Pegasus..." There was the sound of stuff being forcibly shoved into a bag, accompanied by the ruthless pull of a zipper.

"Rodney, if he really wants to leave, I cannot keep him here." Teyla's voice was gentle again.

"That's bullshit Teyla and you know it. Knock him over the head for all I care, but do not let him leave." Rodney's voice was sharp again and then suddenly desperate. "Teyla, please."

There was another sigh, as soft as an ocean breeze this time, and then the sound of the door closing behind the noisy wake of Rodney's passing. He heard light footsteps cross to the foot of his bed and then Teyla spoke again.

"Stop pretending to be asleep, JohnSheppard." Her voice was stern and she ran his name together oddly, as though it were all one word.

With a grin, he turned over under the sheets and stretched, catlike, before opening his eyes. Whoa! Before him stood a diminutive woman, fists planted on hips as she glared at him. Her bare arms were beautifully defined, like a wood carving. Coppery hair fell to just below her shoulders, in harmony with her bronzed skin. She was wearing some sort of leather bodice affair that showed off her perfect abs over what oddly appeared to be BDU-style pants. She was stunning. Huh. If the rest of the Air Force personnel had looked like her, he might have worked harder at keeping his mouth shut.

"Hey," he said lazily, turning on the full charm. "You must be Teyla."

Uh-oh, looks like she must have a charm deflector, because her expression just got stony.

"As you well know. Why were you pretending to be asleep just now?"

He pushed himself up on his elbows. "Just gathering intel, sweetie." He tried another smile. God, this would be easier if he didn't feel like crap. "And your friend, his name's Rodney, right?"

Teyla frowned, a tiny crinkle in the middle of her smooth forehead. "Didn't Dr. McKay fill you in on the details of his proposal last night?"

The 'doctor' threw him for a moment until he remembered not all doctors were surgeons. "We didn't get as far as names last night." He let the lazy drawl fill his voice. "Or at least, I don't think so..." He lifted up the sheet to peek underneath, fixing her with a coy smile as he did so.

He was unprepared for how swiftly she moved. The next thing he knew, he was up against the headboard, her elbow pinning him by the throat against the fake wood paneling. "You will not hurt him." Her words were a command. His initial reaction of 'damn that's hot,' was tempered by the intensity of her stare into his eyes. She meant it; he could feel the promise of retribution in her entire body and the knowledge that she might well be able to kill him with her bare hands.

Very carefully, he spoke, his voice rasping only slightly. "I think the only one hurting Rodney here is Rodney himself." There was a long moment where she searched his face with her eyes and he knew that he had guessed correctly. "If this is such a bad idea, Teyla, how come you're letting him do it?"

Abruptly she let him go. "We cannot lose him as well." She blinked suddenly, as though surprised at her own words and then straightened. "Dr. McKay wishes you to take a shower and eat breakfast while waiting for his return." She spoke stiffly and there was an implied order in her words again. "I will wait in the next room."

She paused by the door on her way out, sending him another speaking look that somehow seemed to contain the weight of generations of leadership and self-control. He knew he would not get another warning from her.

***

He took his time in the shower, luxuriating in the sensation of getting really clean again, and making a mental note to pocket the shampoo and soap before his departure. He hesitated on exiting the shower stall, considering only briefly the rudeness of borrowing someone's shaving kit without asking before vetoing the idea. Curiosity caught him by the eye as he stood in front of the mirror and he inspected his reflection. He wondered just how much he really looked like this other guy the geek was telling him about. The dead guy. He was still in pretty decent shape, despite having been out of the military for several years now. His hair was still good, but he noted that the life he'd been leading was starting to show on his face, in the bags sneaking under his eyes, in the soft roll of flesh just beginning to develop around his waist. He tucked the towel in tighter around his hips. He figured had maybe another couple of years before he stopped being attractive to the sort of people that attracted him, but if he was careful, he could probably still hook up with some older woman who would be desperate for his company. It was time to leave South Florida anyway. Too many beautiful people.

Abruptly, he turned away from his reflection and headed out into the room, scanning the furniture for his clothing. He didn't remember actually taking off his jeans last night, but as he looked around, he discovered that none of his clothing was visible. He prowled around the room, opening drawers and peering under the bed before giving up. Hesitating only a moment, he stepped into the hallway, making sure the door didn't shut behind him. He tapped on the door of the next room, one hand on the towel to make sure it stayed in place.

Teyla opened the door and stood with one fist on her hip, an eyebrow delicately raised at his appearance.

"Teyla." He was trying for nice, not wanting his annoyance to show. "Where are my clothes?"

She bit her lip briefly, a smile threatening to break through before she said solemnly, "Rodney would be very distressed if you left before he had a chance to speak with you this morning. I thought it was best to see that you stayed put until his return."

"And when exactly is that going to be? I would prefer not to hang around in a towel until he comes back."

When she stepped back from the door to allow him to enter the room, he moved in just far enough that she could step past him without being crowded. He noted she left the door open to the hall as well. She moved with purpose over to a black duffle bag sitting on the dresser, hefting it up and turning to hold it out to him. "Your clothes were dirty," she said matter-of-factly. "We have clean clothing here for you, should you choose to take it."

She had an odd way of phrasing things that made him wonder about her nationality and whether or not she was a part of this trade negotiation that McKay had mentioned. He stepped forward to grab the bag with one hand, trying the charm again.

"So Teyla," he let his voice drop into a purring register, moving in closer to take hold of the bag than was strictly necessary. "That's a really exotic name. It suits you. Where exactly are you from?"

"No place you've ever heard of." The deep masculine register behind him made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he turned slowly to face the man who had spoken. Holy shit.

This guy looked like the sort of hired muscle that would shortly be fitting him for cement shoes if he wasn't careful. He was huge, sporting dreadlocks and tattoos, his bare, muscular arms currently holding several bags and containers of fast food, which he set down easily on the bureau before straightening to fix John with a feral stare. "Leave her alone," he ordered.

"Listen buddy, I think the lady can take care of herself," John started to protest, even as Teyla's "Ronon" was stiff with warning.

Ronon moved into John's space with the speed and purpose of an attacking pit bull. Instinctively, John moved the duffle bag across his towel-covered groin for its minimal protection.

"I am not your buddy," Ronon snarled. There followed a space of several seconds, during which John could feel his heart pound as he stared back into the face of death inches away from his own.

"Ronon," Teyla said again, but this time managing to sound more like an irritated mother censuring a child. "Rodney wants us to keep him here, not scare him off."

Ronon straightened, having had to drop down to glare into John's face. "Not my fault if he's frightened." He sneered at John as he spoke. "If he scares that easily, we don't want him."

Teyla stepped smoothly in between the two of them. "JohnSheppard," she said again in that odd way. "You should go get dressed. Then you can join us for breakfast, hopefully after which Rodney will have returned. He can then explain the entire proposal to you. If at that time you are not interested in helping us, you will be free to leave."

Damn straight I will. "Is he in a better mood after he's eaten?" John could not resist the quirking of an eyebrow in Ronon's direction and was rewarded with seeing Ronon scowl and Teyla's brief, stunning smile.

"Marginally," she conceded. "But food is definitely the way to go with Ronon."

He walked past Ronon with studied nonchalance, noting his 'I'll kill you later' look and shooting back a smug 'they want me alive' look of his own. Something flickered behind Ronon's eyes as he passed him, but it was there and gone so fast he could not interpret it. He let out a whoosh of breath he didn't know he'd been holding once he was back in the relative safety of McKay's hotel room once more. He deposited the bag on the end of his bed, and opened it.

He was pleased to note a shaving kit right on top. Heading back into the bathroom with the kit, he found it to be an odd mix of old and new—new razor, old comb, partially used can of shaving cream, hey check it out, the hair gel he liked. He shaved cheerfully and stuffed the kit with the hotel bath products before taking it back out to the duffle. Standing in front of the bag once more, he noted the odd combination of old and new once again. Several t-shirts in black, washed many times, soft and starting to fade slightly. A package of briefs, still in cellophane. A couple of pairs of BDU pants in his size. A worn belt, the crease in the leather indicating a slimmer waist than he currently sported himself. An empty thigh holster. Another package—this time socks. At the very bottom of the bag, new military issue boots, also in his size. He dressed efficiently, mentally wincing at how hot he was going to be in the Miami sun wearing all this black. After only a moment's hesitation, he raided the mini-bar and filled the duffle with its contents. Most of the snacks had been depleted already he noted, but there was still a good selection of booze. He started to head for the door when the laptop on the table caught his eye.

Only one now. Wherever McKay had taken off to this morning, he'd apparently taken one of the laptops with him. John idly walked over to the remaining one and opened it. The screen cued up obediently and then began winking 'password?' at him repeatedly. The spacing indicated a 15 digit code. Huh. He was unlikely to guess that one. He began to poke around on the table at the various pieces of equipment, startled when a small globe lit up suddenly at his touch. It stopped as soon as he removed his fingers and he warily moved away from it to pick up a digital camera instead.

It only took him a few seconds to figure out the menu. Scrolling through the memory, he flipped quickly through what appeared to be endless images of weird-looking equipment. Yup. Geek all right. He was surprised by the photos of a man with long white hair and a sickly green complexion with what appeared to be catfish-like whiskers, snarling from behind some neon bands of light. Must be Halloween. Good costume though. Almost Hollywood quality.

He flicked through some more photos, smiling at the one of Teyla and a handsome young black man in a USAF lieutenant's uniform, laughing over some long-forgotten joke. There were many shots of an incredibly beautiful city—balcony views over an endless sea, needle-like spires rising gracefully to the sky, a nighttime shot with a myriad of lights twinkling over the black reflection of water. Something inside of him twisted at the sight. The place seemed magical and he felt a sense of homesickness that he could not explain for a place he'd never seen before. Pulling himself away from the city photographs with a mental shake, he continued on through the memory card, conscious of the fact that Teyla would come looking for him soon.

McKay and some fuzzy haired fellow scientist-type in glasses. A dark haired man with kind eyes and a nice smile, wearing a stethoscope around his neck. A shot of McKay beaming ridiculously while standing next to an elegant, slim woman with dark chestnut hair, his chest puffed out as he displayed something that looked like a green glowing turtle in the center of it. And next to McKay...stood himself.

He caught his breath sharply and hauled the camera up closer to examine the tiny viewscreen. Shaking his head, he scrolled over onto the figure beside McKay and hit the zoom button. There he was, standing next to McKay, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at him while smiling at the woman. Except that it wasn't him, but someone that looked just like him. Damn, he didn't just resemble the dead guy. He could be the dead guy. This was just too weird.

He clicked on the next photo and saw 'himself' and McKay standing in front of what appeared to be a Winnebago without wheels. Another shot—him and McKay with feet propped up on some sort of console in lazy companionship. The four together—him, McKay, Teyla, and the lieutenant, relaxed and comfortable over food at a table. More shots, less of McKay now but when he did appear, he looked tired and thinner. The young lieutenant seemed to disappear altogether. Several shots of just 'himself'; candid, unguarded pictures that showed a tension and weariness not seen in the earlier photos. Ronon appeared towards the end of the card, and surprisingly the look of camaraderie reappeared in the group shots as well.

At the end of the photo menu were some videos. He clicked on the first one, a panning view of a huge open room; people walking in pairs in the darkened area, weapons at the ready while lights seemed to blink on at their passing. The camera panned off from where it was following 'his'own movement up a flight of stairs and continued in a circle facing the way it had come. It focused on a giant metal ring, the center of which was filled with a glowing, shimmering blue light, through which people appeared in intervals, walking through as though stepping through a curtain of water.

The next one showed the unsteady movement of the camera as it seemed to be taped to a pole of some sort and was being advanced towards another radiant wall of light. "Cool," he heard his voice say. "MALP-on-a-stick."

"Yes, Colonel." McKay's voice had a long-suffering 'you idiot' quality to it. "MALP-on-a–stick." The camera went through the wall of light and revealed a cave on the other side. Nothing happened for several long moments, after which the video was suddenly cut off.

He reversed it and played it again. He tried to convince himself it was not his own voice he was hearing. He'd always hated the recorded sound of his own voice, the odd drawl that he had that made him sound as though he were from Texas when he was not. The voice on the camera was exactly the same. Abruptly, he switched the camera off and set it down, looking at it as though it were a snake about to strike.

He eyed the duffle sitting at the end of the bed. With determination, he went back to it, turning out all its pockets. From the third pocket, he pulled out a thin, metal chain. The attached dog tags read, "Sheppard, John. USAF, Lt. Colonel." He was still staring at them when the door to the room opened and all three of them stood at the doorway, McKay, Teyla and Ronon.

"Who the hell are you people?" He turned to face them, letting the tags fall from his hand to dangle at the end of the chain.

***

The half hour that followed was among the weirdest in his entire life. His question had fallen on somewhat shocked silence, broken only when Ronon shrugged and said, "Food's getting cold," before turning back to the other room. He followed as both McKay and Teyla headed for the other room as well, taking a cautious seat at the table beside them where a lavish feast of junk food breakfast items was laid out. John nursed a cup of black coffee, wishing for an aspirin and watching in fascinated horror at the way Ronon dove into his food.

McKay seemed to be able to talk and eat at the same time, one hand clutching an Egg McMuffin as he expressively described who they were and what they wanted from him. He kept using words that John found necessary to stupidly repeat back at him, words such as 'stargate project', 'alternative universe', 'quantum mirror' and 'zed-pee-em'. When John questioned anything he said, the explanation that followed was delivered at warp speed and often served to clarify nothing. The whole thing was very surreal and seemed epitomized by McKay's response when he asked if they were all aliens. "No," McKay said, frowning at John. "Well, technically, Ronon and Teyla are aliens. I'm from Toronto."

Oh. Well. That explained everything. Something of his expression must have caught McKay's eye, because he suddenly pointed the Egg McMuffin at him, flinging bits of egg as he did so. "Oh please. I know you're reasonably intelligent. You're making this much harder than it has to be."

"Well, let's see if I have the gist of it," he drawled in response, leaning back in his chair and resting his elbow on the top of the seat behind him. "Your city is defenseless at the moment because you no longer have a ZPM." He had been secretly thrilled to discover the city in the photos was Atlantis. Atlantis for crying out loud! "You need the ZPM to prevent the bad guys from coming through the wormhole and attacking this galaxy." He turned to Teyla. "What did you call the bad guys again?"

"The Wraith." Teyla bit the words off neatly and then shot him a 'you're not fooling me' look.

"Riiiiiight." He stretched out the word. "Wraith. And the Wraith will eventually come again, only a matter of time. In the meantime, you've found some people with some extra ZPMs. And hey, they want to trade. Only problem is, they will only deal with your Colonel Sheppard, whom unfortunately is deceased. But lucky for you, you've found a spare in a different universe. So you would like me to go through the looking glass with you back to Atlantis and help you out in this little charade. How'm I doing so far?"

"Perfect." McKay was wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. "See? Not so hard. I knew you'd be a quick study."

John shot Teyla a look. She held it for a second, before folding her lips tightly in an effort not to smile. He turned to find Ronon's eye upon him and found himself pinned in that hard, assessing stare. He looked back at McKay. "Uh-huh. Simple. No big deal."

"Right." McKay however, looked slightly wary, as though sensing a trap.

"Piece of cake."

"Uh-huh." McKay was starting to turn red.

"Duck soup."

"Will you stop with the euphemisms for how easy this is going to be already?"  
McKay exploded.

"Uh-huh. And exactly how did your Colonel Sheppard die?"

It was a low blow, but hell, he had to know. The answer came unexpectedly from Ronon. "The Wraith got him. Wanna know how the Wraith kill their prey?" Ronon's meaty paw shot out suddenly and rammed into contact with John's chest, twisting his t-shirt up and pulling him forward across the table. "They shove their hands into your body and they suck the life out of you. You can feel the years leaving you, ten, twenty at a time, until you are nothing but a shriveled up corpse."

John heard McKay's sharp gasp and Teyla's even sharper, "Ronon!" but he could not take his eyes off Ronon's face. He released John as suddenly as he had grabbed him in the first place, allowing him to fall back into his seat. Teyla looked stern, obviously angry with Ronon, but McKay looked positively ill.

"Gosh gee," John said dryly in the heavy silence that followed. "Where do I sign up?"

***

Was there ever any possibility that he would refuse to go with these people? He considered his options. Either they were flat out lying (or delusional), in which case he would discover soon enough there was no mirror to an alternate universe, or they were telling the truth, in which case he couldn't help but want to see it for himself. In an odd way, Ronon's overt hostility was reassuring. If they intended to kill him, Ronon would have cheerfully complied already. He debated flipping a coin in order to make his decision, but really, what did he have to leave behind here? Well, you did say you needed to get out of town...

Once the decision was made, it was just a matter of ironing out the details. McKay was a little evasive on exactly how long he could be expected to be gone—rattling on about it depending on his ability to memorize the necessary facts of the Colonel's life—especially since John had never made it past Major during own his tenure in the Air Force, hadn't gone to Antarctica after the fiasco in Afghanistan. McKay declared he would need to coach John until he was word-perfect, as well as convincing the Tenee to re-open negotiations. Ronon had spoken up suddenly with a qualifier of his own, stating with a sneer that John would have to get in better shape, that he had gotten soft.

"You think so?" McKay had looked startled then frowned in assessment at John where he sat at the table. "I mean he looks a little run-down, I grant you. You'll have to lay off the booze," he spoke directly to John before turning to Ronon again. "But seriously, he looks to me to be in pretty good shape."

"Soft," Ronon repeated, baring his teeth. Teyla rolled her eyes and then winked when John caught her doing it. Something in his chest tightened at the surprising sense of belonging to this conversation and yet the exclusion from it as well.

"No seriously guys, don't be shy. Tell me what you really think."

That had triggered a snort from Ronon and an open grin from McKay but both were short-lived. McKay's expression changed abruptly as though a candle snuffed out and he was all business again, apparently deciding that they had spent too much time in this universe as it was and they must all leave immediately, muttering that he hoped the imbeciles back in the lab hadn't blown up the city in his absence. The rental car was turned in; Ronon and Teyla were sent to settle the hotel bill. John followed McKay back to the other room to collect the remainder of their things.

"So where exactly is this 'quantum mirror'?" He couldn't help but contain the word in imaginary quotes.

McKay was unplugging various devices and shoving them in his bags, dashing around the room, opening drawers and making sure he was leaving nothing behind. "What?" He said somewhat distractedly. "The mirror? Oh. Back at the casino where we met. Part of the decorations in the banquet hall, if you can imagine that. Fortunately, the ATA gene—that's Ancient Technology Activation gene to you—is pretty rare. Unlike most quantum mirrors I've run across, this one needs the gene to be activated."

Oh, like quantum mirrors are so commonplace there are different types. An unpleasant thought occurred to him. "Um, about the casino. We might have to be a little careful when we go back there..."

McKay stopped fussing about the room suddenly and snapped his focus on John. Whew, it was intense when he did that. "Yeah. Um, about that..." McKay began to look a little embarrassed. "Um, look. I don't want you to think you don't have any options here. I mean, the Pegasus galaxy is pretty dangerous after all, and I didn't want you to think you had no choice but to come with us, so I sorta, um, paidoffallyourdebts."

"You what?" John was incredulous.

"It was no big deal." McKay frowned and waved a hand at the room in general. "Seriously, off shore bank accounts are not nearly as secure as everyone thinks they are, and besides, Bill Gates will never miss it."

"McKay!"

"Okay, okay, I was joking about the Bill Gates thing." His expression shifted quickly from amusement back to frowning again, shaking a finger at John as something occurred to him. "You know, I'd be hard pressed to describe the criteria for when the Colonel referred to me by first verses last name. For most of the first year of the expedition, he called me 'McKay', never referred to me by my title, which was annoying as hell, let me tell you. I'm not sure when he began to call me 'Rodney', but he still would refer to me by 'McKay' at times, usually when he was being sarcastic or when he was seriously annoyed or when he wanted to get my attention..."

"McKay!" John pulled the syllables out, willing the other man to shut up.

"Oh, now see? That there was a perfect example. You're right, that was probably a 'McKay' moment. You really got the intonation and the inflection down nicely, just the right touch of..."

"Goddamn it, McKay, why the hell did you pay off my gambling debts?"

McKay appeared flabbergasted. "I told you, so you wouldn't feel like you had no choice but to come. I have a receipt here somewhere..." He began to pat his pockets.

"You realize that you have removed all possible incentive for me to go, don't you? I could just walk out this door right now and you'd be out 50K and have nothing to show for it."

"You wouldn't do that." McKay lifted his chin pugnaciously. "If anything, you would feel obligated to come, knowing that I had paid your debts. Not that I want you to feel obligated or anything," he said with sudden concern.

"You don't know that." John stood facing the other man with his fists clenched. "You don't know me. You think you do, but you don't. You need to stop making assumptions about me."

There was a long silence during which McKay blinked at him several times before he turned abruptly away to fiddle with the bags on the table once more. "I'm sorry, you're right. I don't know you. But I would like to think I know the 'core' you. In my experience, the basic fundamental characteristics of people are the same from universe to universe. Sure, there are differences but those differences seem to run within the continuum of what is possible for each individual." He broke off to give his crooked smile. "For example, I'm a genius in every universe I've encountered. Unfortunately, I'm usually an arrogant jerk as well. Sometimes I'm nicer. Sometimes I'm such a megalomaniac it's scary. But you're not going to find me out somewhere drowning kittens or I dunno, embracing neo-Nazism." He gave a little shrug then looked up again. "Does this mean you're not coming?" He looked as though he might be holding his breath.

John just shook his head. Of course he was coming. If for no other reason because he did feel obligated to see that McKay got something in return for paying off his debts. It wasn't until he saw McKay's shoulders slump that he realized the headshake could have been misinterpreted.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, hefting 'his' bag. "Just make sure you give me that receipt later, okay?"

He was rewarded with the McKay megawatt smile.

***

He was impatient to move on once the decision was made. A sense of urgency seemed to overtake the other three people as well and they made quick work of packing up and heading back to the casino. John found himself tuning out McKay's running commentary as they headed down the corridor towards the banquet hall, McKay holding the small globe device in his hand that John had noted earlier. It glowed in McKay's hand as well, and he twiddled with it as they walked, explaining how brilliant he'd been in devising a three tiered method for correctly identifying their own universe in the mirror.

Standing in the empty banquet hall, duffle bags in hand, John felt slightly stupid as they all faced their reflections in the ornate, somewhat gaudy mirror before them. Just about the time he was starting to thank the threesome for jerking his chain, the mirror's surface wavered in front of them and a long empty corridor stretched out away from the other side.

McKay began explaining again his means of identifying the correct universe, and the reasons for having more than one marker, in case someone moved one of the other markers in their absence. As John watched, the corridor on the other side of the mirror began to flicker. He realized belatedly that McKay was spinning through a series of universes with the handheld device. Sometimes the corridor was dark and seemed to suggest abandonment. Once John was startled to see water, complete with swimming fish on the other side. Sometimes the corridor was brightly lit, but most of the time, the lights seemed to be at half power only.

When the image flickered and revealed three men in black coats with long flowing white hair, who looked up and began to advance with speed towards the mirror, McKay began to mutter, "Shit, shit, shit!" and fumble with the device.

As the men came closer into view, John could see that they looked the same as the green complexioned man he'd seen on the digital camera. They moved inexorably closer; the man in the lead opened his mouth in a snarl, baring green fangs that had the effect of making John realize that he was truly seeing an alien before him.

"Rodney!" Teyla's voice was urgent.

"I know, I know!" McKay continued to futz with the device, holding it out in front of him like a remote control changer for the TV as he kept pressing a button on the surface. Beside him, Ronon pulled out an impossibly huge handgun from under the greatcoat he'd been wearing, despite the heat. Just when it seemed that the creatures on the other side were upon them, the image changed and McKay slumped with relief.

"Wraith," Ronon said for John's benefit, re-holstering his weapon.

Holy fuck.

"Okay, here we go," McKay said with forced cheerfulness. "This looks like it might be it."

Ronon started to move forward but McKay stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you think you are doing?"

"It's the right universe, Rodney," Ronon glowered. "There's my mark on the wall and there's Sheppard's golf clubs." John peered curiously into the corridor. A scorch mark on the wall suggested some sort of energy blast had occurred and below it, a set of very nice clubs sat in a bag leaning against the wall.

"Three markers, remember?" McKay said tartly, voice slightly sing-song, like a professor chastising a slow pupil. "Wait for it, wait for it...there!" A projection of the Canadian flag appeared ghost-like on the wall for a few seconds before disappearing again. "Ah," McKay said with satisfaction, turning to John as he spoke. "You would not believe how long it took me to program the hologram unit to do that."

"Rodney." John shook his head slowly, the use of his first name somehow just feeling right. "Seriously dude, you need to get a life."

Ronon had not yet completed his snort when Teyla dragged him through the mirror by his arm. They turned and looked back at John where he stood beside Rodney. He felt his mouth gape open. They really had just walked right through the mirror. He turned to Rodney in some confusion, who merely grinned and took him by the arm, leaning in close. "Wait til you go through a wormhole," he murmured as he pulled John after him through the mirror.

They had taken three steps into the corridor when suddenly the lights intensified overhead, as though in a power surge. Everyone stopped and looked at Rodney, who frowned and checked the handheld device. John looked over his shoulder at the mirror, but it only reflected the four of them standing in the empty hallway. He seemed to feel a sudden warmth under the radiant lighting, but just as quickly, it damped down again and he felt almost a sensation of dread. The feeling made him so uneasy that had the casino still been in view, he might have taken a running jump back through the mirror. The lights dimmed ominously all around them.

"What is it?" John could not help the rise in pitch in his voice, as Rodney suddenly left the group and hurried over to a wall panel, fingers flying at speed over the interface that appeared at his touch. The sense of oppression was almost overwhelming. Teyla looked slightly concerned. Ronon merely looked bored. Couldn't they feel that?

Rodney stood in front of the display that now appeared, thoughtfully stroking his lower lip before rapidly shaking a finger at the terminal. "I think the city was reacting to your presence," he said at last, before turning to face John. "The Colonel was one of the strongest natural carriers of the ATA gene, and the Ancient tech was the most responsive to him. Everything sort of lit up the first time we came through the Gate—I suspect that this was something similar. I don't know why it suddenly powered down though." He frowned again, turning back to the display.

"So, what, the city is sentient?" John felt his heart pounding, like he was standing in front of a not-so-friendly dog who had not yet decided whether or not to bite him.

"Of course not," Rodney scowled at him over his shoulder. "It's just programmed to respond to the DNA marker, of which you have in spades."

Right. Sorry, old girl. John found himself mentally apologizing to the city. I know, I'm not him. But seriously, I had no idea...he felt the constriction in chest ease slightly, the tension around him wane, as though the dog had growled softly and walked away.

"Well, come on, we haven't got all day," Rodney was saying as he moved off again. "We're set up down this way...we've taken over a suite of rooms where we can work uninterrupted until we have you down pat. We don't have much time to get this right, the Icarus will arrive in a few weeks, all of the Colonel's belongings are due to be shipped back then. Maybe even sooner, as no doubt, Caldwell will be panting to take over your job."

John shot Teyla a look but she was staring resolutely ahead, refusing to acknowledge his concern over the obvious slip Rodney had just made in confusing him with the dead Colonel. He was just about to open his mouth to ask about Caldwell, the Icarus and just what exactly was the Colonel's job on Atlantis, when they rounded a corner and came face to face with the little fuzzy haired scientist from the camera.

His mouth dropped open in an 'oh' of surprise, and then his face split wide as he grinned.

"Colonel!" His delight was evident, but only for a moment. Expression faltering, he wheeled on Rodney, voice thunderous as he demanded in a thick Balkan accent, "Rodney, what have you done?"

"Okay, okay, okay, wait a second here, Radek, I can explain..." Rodney sounded like he was almost pleading with the other scientist, who shot John an incredulous look before tapping a radio set in his ear. "Dr. Weir? I found him. It is as you thought, the quantum mirror again. But please, you must come at once, yes?"

"No wait, Radek!" Rodney had lunged forward to grab at his hand but too late to stop him from making contact. "Ronon!" Rodney snarled at the big man, "a little help here would've been nice!"

"What would you have me do?" Ronon shrugged. "Hold Zelenka hostage until you finally came to your senses? I told you this was a bad plan."

***

The trim, elegant woman with the dark chestnut hair had done the same doubletake on seeing him, the same intake of breath, the disbelieving joy in seeing a miracle, the same crashing realization that it could not be true. Cold fury slammed down over her features as she turned away from John and towards Rodney where he stood, shoulders hunched in misery. "Really, Elizabeth, I can explain..."

"Meredith Rodney McKay, I would like a word with you in the other room, now." Her tone brooked no argument. She shot a searing glance at Teyla and said, "I expected better of you." She turned on her heel with a military precision odd for a civilian and left the room without looking behind her. Like a convicted felon off to receive his sentencing, Rodney slumped out of the room after her, the door shutting behind him as they left.

A heavy silence fell among the others. They were standing in what appeared to be an abandoned laboratory, having only moved far enough out of the corridor to find a place to wait after the other scientist had summoned Dr. Weir. John was conscious of a movement by his side, and looked over to see the other scientist staring earnestly up at him.

"Please, you must understand. I have nothing against you, but it is not right, this thing that Rodney has done." He shrugged. "Rodney is brilliant, no? But he doesn't always think things through. And Elizabeth—Dr. Weir—grants him lots of 'slack'. But not, I think, this time."

"But I don't get it. I thought Rodney was the head honcho geek around here." John looked around at Ronon and Teyla for confirmation but just got grim expressions in return. Teyla had her arms folded very tightly around her body. She was patently upset at Elizabeth's hard words to her. Ronon was leaning against one of the lab tables, but there was still tension in his posture.

"He is. Though for how much longer, I am not sure." The other man sighed, obviously not happy at the role he had been forced to play. "I am Radek Zelenka, by the way. Zeh-link-ah," he repeated deliberately, as though John would have trouble remembering. He sighed again and looked at the closed door. "I wish I could be the proverbial fly on the wall right now."

Me too. As the thought entered his mind, the wall separating the two rooms suddenly became transparent, and Elizabeth could be seen and heard railing at Rodney who stood, head bowed and arms folded across his chest, as he listened.

"Of all the unbelievable, bone-headed, risky, stupid, completely insane things that you have ever done..." she was saying.

"JohnSheppard!" Teyla's voice was sharp. "Restore their privacy right now!"

"Wait," John pulled his riveted glance away from Rodney's dressing down. "You think I had something to do with that?" He indicated the apparently one-way wall that now stood before them.

"You might be head scientist of this expedition, and god knows you save our collective asses on a near weekly basis, but I have a good mind to send you packing on the Icarus when she arrives..." Elizabeth continued to rant.

Rodney's head popped up and his nostrils flared like a bull behind gate that had just been opened. "Now wait just a minute, Elizabeth..."

"Fascinating..." Radek murmured, stepping over to the wall to touch it experimentally. Rodney and Elizabeth continued to remain oblivious to any audience.

"Of course you made the wall transparent! No one else in this room can do that." Teyla was obviously very put out with him. "Fix it now."

"Will you all shut up?" Everyone turned to look at Ronon. He scowled, nodding towards the other room. "I can't hear."

"You don't get it Elizabeth, I've done the math. Atlantis needs a John Sheppard!" Everyone's head swiveled back to the action in the other room, Rodney stalking about in circles, waving his hands demandingly as he made his case. "I've done the statistics. I've spent time studying the alternate universes. And in every case, in those universes that have quantum mirrors, in those universes that have a Stargate Program that mounts an expedition to Atlantis, without a John Sheppard, there is a 93% probability that the expedition will fail catastrophically and the Wraith will find their way to Earth and from there, the entire Milky Way galaxy. The Wraith, Elizabeth, wreaking havoc on our galaxy. On Earth."

"Rodney!" Elizabeth cut him off, leaning across a desk to make her point. "I don't care if you believe this to be true or not, you can't just pick up another John Sheppard like some sort of replacement part from Home Depot and install him here as military CO!"

"Shit!" John said with feeling, storming into the other room, barely noticing that the wall solidified and the door opened for him as he approached.

"God damn it, McKay!" he growled on entering the room. "Left out a few pertinent details, didn't you?"

Elizabeth and Rodney looked momentarily startled. John pressed his advantage. "You didn't tell her? She's the leader of this expedition and you didn't tell her? You didn't tell anyone did you? Except for Ronon and Teyla, whom I'm betting couldn't talk you out of it and were too concerned for your safety to let you go through the mirror by yourself. Did you really think you could pass me off as Colonel Sheppard to the entire expedition? Christ, Rodney, I thought you had their permission!"

"Look, um, I..." Rodney's expression turned pleading again and recognizing that Rodney had not ever called him by his name just added fuel to his outrage.

"No, you know what? Debt or no debt, I'm going back. Hand over that little gizmo thingy and I'll just be on my way..."

"What? You can't go back! You obviously somehow heard our conversation, well then, you know that we need you here."

"That was before you lied to me and before you planned to make me an accessory in your little plot to deceive everyone here. Fork over the gadget, McKay."

"You can't have it." Rodney thrust out his chin, a superior tone automatically creeping back into his voice. "You wouldn't know how to use it. We didn't leave a marker behind. You might not get back to the right universe."

"I think I can figure it out. It would be the one where the other end of the mirror is in the casino, oh and yeah, right, the one with no Wraith." John let his sarcasm have full rein.

A muffled sound caught both their attentions and they turned to see Elizabeth seated at the desk, cradling her head with her hands, her slim shoulders shaking slightly.

"Oh, brilliant! Way to go. You made Elizabeth cry." Rodney's tone was scathing and he smacked John on the arm with the back of his hand.

"I made Elizabeth cry? This wasn't my bright idea, oh evil genius. Did you just hit me?"

Elizabeth lifted her head suddenly, wiping tears from her face. If John didn't know better, he would swear she had been laughing. "Gentlemen," she said, carefully schooling her features again. "We need to talk."

***

The time that followed was the second-most weird half hour in his life and he thought the fact that they were occurring with such frequency was probably the norm in this universe, and wasn't that saying something? Elizabeth had Rodney locate some sort of meeting room down there on the lower levels where they were gathered so that everyone could sit down and discuss the situation that Rodney had created. She also insisted that Dr. Carson Beckett be involved and somehow John was not surprised when the kind-faced man with the stethoscope from the pictures showed up. He too, did the doubletake on seeing John, the lighting up of facial features that suddenly clouded over. He turned on Rodney and said with a heavy Scottish accent, "Och, laddie. What have you done?"

"I wish everyone would stop saying that," Rodney groused.

Elizabeth held court at the table, allowing Rodney to present his case and then the discussion of all the ramifications of Rodney's actions began. John sat quietly through the increasingly heated discussion, finally interrupting to point out that he had only agreed to assist for one mission only, in which case, did it matter what the back story was? Since the only purpose was to appease the Tenee, it hardly mattered if the rest of the expedition knew he was not the 'real' John Sheppard, right?

Elizabeth and Rodney traded a look that John was unable to interpret.

"It might be best to limit the knowledge of how Rodney used the quantum mirror to the people in this room," Elizabeth said slowly. "I can think of many reasons why it might be bad for morale if it became public knowledge."

For once, Rodney was uncharacteristically silent at Elizabeth's implied criticism. Somehow though, without his noticing it, Elizabeth and Rodney now seemed to be on the same side of things. The discussion turned now to the best way of re-integrating John into the city as the 'missing' Colonel. The sticking point now seemed to hinge on the fact that Dr. Beckett had made a positive identification of the Colonel's body.

The debate on how to solve the problem threatened to get out of control and John found himself once again, stepping into the breach.

"Okay, no one hit me here, but doesn't one incredibly old dead guy look very much like the next? Couldn't the doc have made a mistake?"

Pinned by the lethal glares of Colonel Sheppard's team, and Rodney's expostulation that Carson was a specialist in gene therapy for crying out loud, that was not the sort of mistake he would make; John almost missed the look of thoughtful speculation on the good doctor's face.

"We-ll, actually," he said carefully, after a pause. "The Wraith feeding process alters everything on cellular level. It is conceivable that I could have made an error—particularly if we assume that there was a vested interest in someone making us believe the Colonel was dead."

All faces in the room were suddenly riveted on Beckett's. "No," he said with a sad sigh, answering the unspoken question. "I'm not saying I did make a mistake, I'm saying I could have. If we go with the 'someone wanted us to believe' story, it would explain the dog tags and other identifying markers present with the body."

"Okay-okay-okay," Rodney said rapidly in the tense little silence that followed. "So after we get..." there was a pause during which he shook a finger repeatedly in John's direction before he swallowed hard and continued, "John here up to speed on the events of this universe and more particularly, his role in it, then we'll smuggle him down to some non-hostile but not too friendly planet, one we don't go to often—I was thinking Jenev—and let the team 'find' him. We'll say he escaped, but he was injured...oh, I know, he had amnesia...that will cover any gaps in knowledge and explain why he didn't make his way back to Atlantis will all due speed..." Rodney seemed to be warming to his plot, looking somewhat introspective as he spun out his storyline.

"Hello? Yes?" John mimicked answering a cell phone, and then pretended to hand it across the table to Rodney. "Meredith? Harlequin Romance on line two. They'd like to speak to you."

Elizabeth choked suddenly, and began coughing.

"Oh what, like you have a better idea?" Really, McKay was just too easy.

"The best lies are simple and contain an element of the truth." John sincerely hoped he was not giving too much about himself away with that revealing little statement. He thought Elizabeth's glance was just a tad too discerning as he spoke. "I got away, but I had no way to contact you guys and no way back. I got back as soon as I could."

"It could have happened that way," Teyla said unexpectedly. "If the Colonel had managed to escape on a transport, but then ended up on another world where the only access to the gate was by ship, then he could have been stuck. Perhaps even needing to keep a low profile if the Wraith were actively searching for him."

"And without his ID codes, he couldn't dial home, nor could he take the chance on bringing the Wraith back to Atlantis. His best bet would be to try and get to a world where we were trading partners with the native population." Elizabeth nodded.

Ronon frowned. "All we know is the Wraith got him in the end. We don't know how the Wraith got him."

"What are you saying, Ronon?" Elizabeth was frowning now.

"I'm saying the guys that jumped us were not Wraith. Everyone made it back through the Gate except Sheppard." He glowered, as though that fact was the fault of everyone in the room. "We don't know how he ended up in the Wraith's hands after that."

For some reason everyone turned to look at John. "Okay, so things could be a little fuzzy for me. But I draw the line at outright amnesia." He slouched a little in his chair, trying not to sound as sulky as he felt. Rodney smirked. The rest of the room seemed to be trying not to openly snicker.

"Well, then," Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Let's hash out the rest of the details, shall we?"  
***

 

When the tiny, relentless alarm went off near his head, John snaked an arm out from underneath the covers and snagged the clock, bouncing it off the nearest wall with the satisfying tinkle of something breaking. He stifled a groan and buried his head under his pillow. No way. There was no way he was going to get up this fucking early. It had to be o'dark thirty and normal people just did not get up then.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been for the fact that Rodney insisted on keeping such late hours. He and Rodney were sharing a suite of rooms in an unused part of the city that McKay had picked out for them so he could conduct his Total Immersion Sheppard Training Program. By day, he'd been leaving John to the not-so-tender mercies of Ronon and Teyla while he himself worked in the city's labs. At night he would return to grill John on every aspect of Colonel Sheppard's life, every mission, every member of the expedition, every small factoid that he could gather—right down to what movies the Colonel had watched and what books he'd read. John still remembered how bent Rodney got when he had revealed that he'd read War and Peace and for the life of him thought it was stupid that he had to pretend he'd never finished it.

When McKay actually slept, John had no idea. The only time he'd seen Rodney sleep at all was just the night before, when the two of them had ended up crashing on the couch in the middle of the latest round of This is Your Life, John Sheppard. He had woken to find himself precariously balanced with his feet on the coffee table and Rodney sprawled up against him, making soft, whistling noises into his shoulder. Muscles protesting at the uncomfortable position, as well as the brutal ass kicking Teyla had given him earlier with her little Sticks of Doom, he was forced to shift Rodney. He was kinda sorry to do so. Rodney had looked so confused when he woke, his short hair sticking up in all directions so that he looked like a downy chick. He just sat there, blinking those hard-to-forget blue eyes at him, while he tried to process where he was and how he had gotten there. John couldn't resist the temptation to reach out with one hand and smooth Rodney's hair into a semblance of its normal appearance with his fingertips. Rodney had shifted back as though he'd been slapped and hastily made his excuses to retreat to his own room.

Now that he had killed the alarm, John had every intention of going back to sleep for at least another hour or so, only his mind didn't seem to want to let him to that. It wasn't going to be too much longer before it was showtime. Rodney had grudgingly admitted that there wasn't much more they could do to prepare him, and the passing of time was only adding to the logistical problems of creating a believable back story for the Colonel's 'escape and subsequent rescue'. Rodney had covered everything they had access to in the Colonel's life; he had admitted there were great sections of the Colonel's personal life that no one in the expedition knew anything about and that John should probably stick to his own life experiences to fill in any gaps that turned up. John had been a little surprised at this revelation. The Colonel seemed to have such tight friends here. He thought they would have known more about him. He thought about his own life and mentally shrugged. Then again, maybe not.

He rolled over on his back, the sheets twisting and bunching up as he turned. He kicked them straight again, and flopped one arm over his eyes. He thought back to the conversation he'd had with Teyla the other day. She and Ronon had converted a room into a makeshift gym and the two of them seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in physically torturing him each day. Well, at least Ronon did. Teyla simply moved with supple feline grace through the routines she was teaching him, saying very little beyond, "again", "you dropped your guard", and "did I hurt you?"

His responses, in between panting breaths, had been along the lines of "ow" and "no, really, I'm fine." This time, however, after a particularly stinging blow to the back of his thighs, he'd complained that there was no way that he was going to be able to master three years of training in less than three weeks time.

She had paused to look at him solemnly. "You are a good student, JohnSheppard," she'd said at last. "The Colonel would have progressed much faster if he had applied himself with a tenth as much dedication as you have shown here." He'd suspected the Colonel had other things on his mind than impersonating himself but chose not to comment on that.

"Why do you call me that?" He'd asked suddenly, using the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe his face. "'JohnSheppard'. You run my name together like it's all one word."

She hadn't answered right away, instead collecting her fighting sticks together in one hand and walking over to a bench against the wall to put them inside a bag. She'd taken her time placing the fighting sticks within and then looked up to face him squarely. "I have difficulty calling you by my friend's name." Her voice had been calm. "'John' when he was off duty. 'Colonel' when we were 'on the clock', as he would say. I am sorry, but that is the way it is."

"I see," he'd said slowly. "I understand. No, really, I do. Ronon avoids the issue by not using a name at all. Rodney refers to me as "John' however. Don't you think that people will think it's odd the way you refer to me?" He had spoken almost diffidently, looking down at the stick weapons in his hand, avoiding her eye.

He'd heard her gentle sigh. "Rodney has already taken me to task over it many times." But not in front of me. He'd wondered what other conversations had been held in his absence.

He'd brought his sticks over to her and handed them off for placement within the bag. "Where I come from Teyla, people often give each other nicknames. Short, goofy names we call each other instead of using our given names." He'd hesitated but then plowed on. "My friends call me 'Jay'."

She had smiled then, a tiny one but it reached her eyes. "I think I can do that."

"Right. Cool. Okay then. Well, I'll just be heading out then." Unaccountably embarrassed, he'd begun stepping backwards for the door, turning and leaving the room with purpose until her voice stopped him.

"Jay?" When he'd turned back to face her, her expression had been solemn again. "Rodney never called the Colonel by anything other than his rank or 'Sheppard'."

John sighed from underneath his arm. He was never going to fall back asleep at this rate. He didn't really know what to make of Rodney's decision to call him John, implying a greater degree of friendship than he apparently shared with Col. Sheppard. The elephant in the room that everyone seemed hell-bent on ignoring was the fact that Rodney was in love with the deceased Colonel. He felt bad sometimes, catching Rodney looking at him with such an expression of hopelessness and loss that would quickly be blinked away and turned into something bitingly sarcastic. It didn't help that the more time they all spent together, the more he learned of what the expedition had survived so far, the more he had come to appreciate just how brilliant Rodney really was. A small part of him had begun to worry what would happen to the expedition if he left as planned at the end of this mission. What if Rodney was right?

He lowered his arm and addressed the ceiling. "Atlantis needs a John Sheppard, eh? I bet not this one." He had fallen into the habit of speaking to the city on occasion, but not since that first day had he any sensation that the city responded—or even cared. Probably had been his imagination that first day anyway. He shifted a little uncomfortably. Thoughts of Rodney and his affection for the Colonel had his dick starting to stand up at attention. He ran a hand lazily down his abdomen and into his boxers, giving his cock a sleepy pull. If he really wanted to doze back off, he could think of a sure-fire method...

A slight noise outside his door had him shifting his hand and closing his eyes just as the door to his room opened. He sensed Ronon looming at the foot of his bed.

"Get up," the alien warrior growled.

Fuck this. He was sick of this. Without opening his eyes, he flipped Ronon the bird and let his hand fall back to the bed.

"You were supposed to meet me for a run. Get up."

"I'm not running with you today, Ronon," John yawned, still not opening his eyes. "Rodney kept me up half the night. I'm sleeping in."

"You are running. Sheppard always runs with me in the mornings."

"You must be mistaking me for someone else." The self-preserving part of his brain winced as those words came out of his mouth, but he could not retract them now. His eyes flew open when the sheet was jerked off the bed; he shivered at the sudden flow of cold air against his bare skin but before he could protest, he felt his ankle being grabbed like it was in a leg-hold trap and the next thing he knew, he was being suspended upside down.

A part of him could picture the Colonel yelling, 'Goddamn it, Ronon! Put me down!' but he chose to silently torque his body until he could connect his lower leg with a roundhouse kick to Ronon's ribcage. He let off two kicks in rapid succession, wincing at the pain that caused his shin bone. When that failed to get him released, he gave Ronon a sharp jab to the kidney with his fist. Ronon dropped him abruptly.

"Now you're just pissing me off," he said. Oh shit.

The ensuing melee was impressive. John was not shy about throwing anything at Ronon that he thought might possibly slow him down, including the coffee table, while Ronon meanwhile bore down on him with all the determination of a grizzly bear searching for that first meal post-hibernation. He punched and twisted his way out of Ronon's grasp, knowing that if Ronon ever got a hold of him, he'd crush his ribs in an instant. He got in a good blow to Ronon's face, recognizing the look of surprise on his opponent as his fist made contact and he grabbed a handful of dreads at one point, letting go with a yelp when something sharp within sliced his fingers. Eventually though, Ronon wore him down. Grabbing him by the skin on his side (fuck, that hurt!), Ronon flung him down beside the couch and straddled him, rearing his fist back to land a punch when the sound of Rodney's screeching yell filled the air.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Ronon froze mid-punch. He and John threw a guilty glance in Rodney's direction, where Teyla could be seen standing in stern disapproval as well. Both Ronon and John were breathing hard with the exertion of the fight; Ronon sat back on his heels on top of John and wiped at his split upper lip. John's 'damn, that's hot,' was quickly squashed by the certainty that if Ronon knew what he was thinking, he was a dead man.

"He started it." Ronon sounded like a sullen child.

"I started it!" John exclaimed. "Who was the one who upended me out of bed? Get off me, you big oaf!"

Ronon's eyes narrowed, but he complied, rolling off John's thighs easily. John used the side of the couch to pull himself into a sitting position and stared blankly at his bleeding hand.

"I don't care who started it, Ronon, you know what's at stake here. Whatever your problem is with John, build a bridge and get over it!" Rodney was obviously steamed, vibrating with anger and to John's surprise, Ronon said nothing, tolerating the scientist's chastisement without complaint.

Instead, Ronon spoke directly to John. "You fight dirty." He somehow made it seem like a good thing.

"Ronon," John said slowly, looking up at the other man, folding his fingers over to put pressure on the bleeding tips. "Do you keep knives in your hair?"

Ronon stared at him, an unreadable glimmer in his half-shut eyes. "Yes," he said succinctly.

"Cool," John said with a smile. He could feel the left side of his face swelling as he spoke, knew he'd have a shiner by that evening. Ronon slowly grinned back.

"Ohmygod," Rodney threw his hands up in the air. "I can't believe you two."

***

"When do I get to fly it?" John had taken to the schematics on the gateships like a duck to water, manipulating the HUD's with astonishing ease. He could tell from Rodney's expression that such proficiency with the Ancient technology did not come as easily for him; there was a hint of jealously in his tone as he spoke.

"It's too risky. We can't take the chance on someone seeing you until we have smuggled you off world first. Then, maybe if we have the time..."

"Aw, c'mon Rodney," he whined. "The Colonel's supposed to be one of your best pilots. How can I be convincing without any actual flight time? Surely you can drum up a need to take one of the hoppers out for a little run?" He was longing for a little blue sky and some fresh air. It seemed like he had not seen the sun in weeks and he was beginning to go stir-crazy down in the bowels of the city.

"What did you just call the gateship?" Rodney was stern, using his 'The Colonel wouldn't say that' tone of voice. Honestly, John was tempted to ask Rodney for a 'What Would John Do' bracelet; he certainly acted as if the former military CO walked on water.

"You can't seriously call those gateships, Rodney. A little crowhopper like that? A ship is the Enterprise, the Millennium Falcon..."

"It's a ship that flies though the gate. A gateship."

Rodney's frown didn't faze him. "Right. Crowhopper. So c'mon, when can we take one out? This afternoon?" He gave Rodney his best, 'you know you want to' smile.

Rodney just looked at him searchingly for a long moment and then nodded, shutting the laptop. "You're right. You should get some flight time in. We need to figure out how to get you to the bay unseen anyway. I'll go set it up." He rose to leave abruptly without looking back.

John watched him go with a mental sigh. He had left as though he could not stand to be in John's presence another instant, and yet at the same time was acquiescing to a risky request of John's that he could have easily denied with good cause. John wondered idly if the Colonel had understood him any better.

***

"Here, the native clothing Rodney wished me to procure." Radek shoved the bundle of clothing and boots, smelling faintly of sheep or some other wooly barnyard animal, at John. "You will need to change into it before you are taken to Rish. We will get you to the hopper bay, you will have to keep your head down until the hopper clears the Gateroom. Once on Rish, Rodney will alter course and come back through the Gate to leave you on Kelmar. It should be safe enough." Radek shrugged. "Major Lorne is scheduled to go to Kelmar at the end of the week. Rodney, Ronon and Teyla will go as well. There you will be 'discovered' and rescued."

"Sounds reasonable." John knew a few days unwashed and unshaven and he would look scruffy enough to be a believable 'escaped and on-the-run prisoner'. The fading bruises courtesy of Ronon would lend verisimilitude to the idea that he'd been living on his own the last few weeks as well. Rodney, predictably, had vetoed the plan initially, reminding everyone that John had not ever been off world before and god knows how often that went badly. In the end however, it was the only plan that made any sort of sense. Rodney had insisted on taking another two days to brief him on both Rish and Kelmar, (having decided for some reason against Jenev) as well as having him commit to memory four other Gate sequences that would take him to a relatively safe world should something catastrophic happen on Kelmar. He'd also received a withering lecture on Rodney's part about keeping his pants on while he was dirtside. John's comment that it would all depend on if someone was buying him dinner or not had not been particularly well-received.

"Where is Rodney, anyway?" Radek frowned, glancing around behind John into the suite.

John frowned back. "I thought he was in the lab with you."

Radek sucked in his breath and let it out with a sigh. "Noooo, Rodney is seldom in the lab these days. He is spending all his time down here with you, no?"

"No." John tossed the bundle of clothing down on the nearest table. "Radek, he leaves here every morning and goes to the lab. He doesn't come back here until dinner."

They traded a long look. "It's the mirror, isn't it?" John guessed.

"I'm afraid so. Please, Colonel. You see, I must get used to calling you that now. Colonel." He used the title as though it were a new word that he was trying out before returning to his primary concern. "You must stop him. This time with the mirror, it is not good for him. He will listen to you."

I have serious doubts about that, Radek old buddy. Aloud he said, "I'll try."

Mentally steeling himself for what he knew would be an unpleasant confrontation, John sighed and began the long walk towards the location of the quantum mirror. Its off-the-beaten-path location meant it was unlikely he would run into anyone unless they too were seeking the mirror—but it also explained how Rodney had managed to lie to everyone about what he was really doing all day long without getting caught. As expected, when he rounded the corner to the corridor where the mirror was located, he spotted Rodney seated at a table, laptop and other equipment piled around him, cables running in all directions, out of the ceiling, into the mirror, back to the tabletop. A few empty Power bar wrappers gave mute testament to the length of time he'd been there, but the P-90 within easy reach gave John pause. At least Rodney was taking the risks seriously, he decided. Still, better not to sneak up on the man.

"Whatcha doin', Rodney?" He went for causal.

"What are you doing here?" Rodney's voice was sharp. He glanced up briefly from where he was hunched over the laptop, eyes sliding back to the viewscreen even as he continued to speak. John looked curiously over his shoulder at what Rodney was working on. Though the mirror in front of them wavered darkly like a television with poor reception, on Rodney's laptop a scene without sound was playing out before them. John caught a glimpse of another Colonel and Dr. McKay before Rodney turned the viewscreen protectively towards him. "Aren't you supposed to be sparring with Teyla?"

"That was hours ago, Rodney. T's gone off with Ronon somewhere. Aren't you supposed to be down in your lab?" John continued to speak mildly, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

Rodney pulled his lips in a thin line, snapping off his words as he spoke. "I know exactly what I need to be doing and when I need to be doing it. I was doing it long before you ever got here and I don't need you telling me what I need to be doing!"

"You realize that last sentence only marginally made sense, right?" John sighed and pushed himself upright again. "What's this set-up you've got going here?"

Rodney hesitated only a second. The temptation to explain his work to someone was too great to be ignored. "The problem with using the quantum mirror to gain intelligence is that you can only see what is going on at the point of entry—which for many universes is in an abandoned corridor. If not, it's often in a secured facility or simply in a place where nothing is going on. The only way to make use of it is to actually enter the other universe, and frankly, that's pretty risky. The vast majority of universes out there are really screwed up. So," Rodney's chest seemed to expand, "I've developed a way to boost a signal from the other universe to see what's going on beyond the entry point—only I have no sound. I'm getting pretty good at lip reading though." He turned back to stare intently at the viewscreen. "I'm getting some pretty good information here. Mistakes we can avoid. Planets to lock out of the dialing sequence. People who would make good trading partners. People to steer clear of. That sort of thing."

"Rodney, this isn't good. You've got to stop this."

"What?" Rodney turned an incredulous expression on him. "Are you kidding me? This information is priceless. If we had access to this originally, think of the things we could have prevented from happening! Think of the lives we could have saved!"

"What are you going to do if someone else here dies, Rodney? Someone that you think is irreplaceable? Are you going to go through and fetch another Elizabeth or Radek or Carson? It's not right and you know it."

"Not right?" Rodney stood up from the table suddenly. "What does your sense of right and wrong, which, by the way, is shaky at best, have to do with it? This is not about 'right'. It's about 'necessary'.

"You can't know that. This isn't about 'necessary', McKay. You're becoming obsessed with this whole mirror/alternative universe thing. It's not healthy."

"Oh and what would you know about that?" Rodney's tone was biting and John felt again the condemnation he'd experienced that first night in Rodney's hotel room.

"I know about addiction, Rodney, and this has all the earmarks of one. You're spending all your time here. You're lying about that fact. If you're not here, I'm betting you're thinking about the mirror and what you can do next to manipulate it. You think you're keeping up with your real work here in the city, but that's not true—you're just coasting and expecting Radek to find you if there's a serious problem. You're kidding yourself if you think this is about the greater good of the expedition, because if it was, you would've destroyed the mirror by now."

"What? No way!" Rodney looked alarmed at the suggestion.

"Yes way." John took a deep breath and tried again. "Rodney, there are too many variables between one universe and the next for the intel you gather about another one to be accurate in your own. You tell me my universe never mounted a Stargate program. Probably because some higher up muckety-muck didn't approve the necessary funding. But you know what? Even if they had, I wouldn't have been in a position to go with the expedition to Atlantis because I mouthed off to the wrong people after Afghanistan. Not to mention that if you can come into my universe and convince me to enter yours—what's to keep someone from entering your universe and making off with someone here—someone who might not want to go? What if the Wraith force someone with the ATA gene to open the mirror on their end—and come invading Atlantis in this universe? Do you seriously think you can hold off an invading force by yourself?" He indicated the P-90 at Rodney's feet.

Rodney looked at him a long moment, mouth open in dismay at his words. Slowly he glanced back over at the laptop before reaching out quietly to disconnect it and power it down. "Long speech for you," he said at last.

"Yeah, well, I get paid by the line."

Rodney's mouth twitched, appreciating the comeback as well as the allusion to the role John was playing. His expression hardened though and John knew he hadn't yet convinced Rodney he was right. His packing up was about calling it a day, not accepting what John was saying.

"I can't destroy the mirror." His voice was eerily calm.

"Can't or won't, Rodney?"

"If I destroy it, you'll have no way to return. Unless you're planning to stay?" Rodney paused, a knowing smile on his face. "No? Yes, well, I thought not. So you see, the mirror must remain intact for now. And once you've gone back to your universe, well, it really won't matter to you what happens here, now will it?"

"Damn it, Rodney, that's not fair. I don't belong here."

Rodney just gave a small, enigmatic smile. "Show me where it's written that life is fair." He did, however, join John as he turned down the corridor to head back to the suite of rooms.

They walked in silence for a moment until John said quietly, "Hey Rodney?"

"Yes?" The sharpness was back.

"When you researched your statistics and came up with that 93% probability thing, did that include a universe where Rodney McKay was also present in Atlantis?"

"Um, yes." Rodney glanced at him quickly and then looked back up the hallway again. "As a matter of fact, in those universes without a McKay, the Atlantis expedition didn't survive more than a couple of weeks at best."

"You didn't tell Elizabeth that."

"Obviously."

"So it isn't just that Atlantis needs a John Sheppard. It's more of a synergy thing between Sheppard and McKay." Rodney stopped walking to stare at him.

"Why do you think that is, Rodney?" John stopped as well, cocking his head back at him.

"We work well together?" Rodney answered as though it were a trick question. "I'm brilliant and you keep me on track. Or I know, I come up with the big ideas as the resident genius, but you implement them as the resident hero. We take turns at saving the universe, you know." His voice turned ultra-sarcastic.

"Then listen to me. I'm right about the mirror." John left him standing in the corridor as he walked away.  
***

 

John didn't quite stick to the script when it came down to the 'big rescue'. He had some serious doubts about how well Rodney and Co. would be able to convincingly act with regards to his return from the 'dead', especially after having lived in each other's back pockets for the last few weeks. He shadowed the team's arrival in the village with Lorne serving as the team leader, hanging back out of sight until he saw the Major step aside to speak with one of the native elders while the rest of the group was taken to receive refreshments. He watched as the man with the boyish good looks and serious expression negotiated with the village leader.

It was odd, this sensation of recognizing a person he'd never met. Sure, he'd spent time with the Major's file and Rodney had attempted to fill him in as far as mission details, but the flatness of the mission reports and the rigidity of the military photo hadn't helped all that much. It was T that provided the background info that Evan Lorne was a painter and sometime amateur photographer.

"A painter?" Rodney had interrupted, confused. "You mean like in houses?"

Big eye roll from T, which still made John chuckle when he thought about it. "No, Rodney, as in landscapes. Portraits. That sort of thing. Really, in Athosian culture, these skills are highly revered." The conversation had then segued into other aspects of Athosian culture that John should be familiar with, before Rodney dragged it back around to the expedition members again.

He waited patiently now for Lorne to turn and catch sight of him. He found himself wondering what the other man's reaction would be to the news that his CO was still alive after all. He seemed like a good guy on paper, a good man to have as 2IC. Colonel Sheppard had been one lucky bastard; John wondered if he had realized that during his lifetime. He hoped he hadn't misread Lorne; what happened next would depend on his being right about the man.

The Major nodded to the elder with whom he'd been speaking. Then he turned, his gaze sliding past John for the briefest of moments before it caught on him and zeroed back with all the intensity of a weapons targeting array. John found himself noting inconsequentially that Lorne's eyes were an electric blue, of a different shade than McKay's, but striking just the same.

Lorne's face froze in open-mouthed surprise before his expression split wide open in a grin that made him look about fifteen. "Colonel!"

"Hey Lorne," John smiled his lazy, shark-like smile. "Think I can catch a ride back to the city with you guys?"

The few minutes had been moderately uncomfortable for John. Lorne's obvious delight in having found him 'alive' made John cringe inside, for having set it up correctly, this time there was no quick assumption that it could not possibly be true. John had tagged along behind Lorne as he immediately headed back to join the team, informing John that he'd been declared dead, telling him how tickled to death everyone would be that it wasn't true and peppering him with questions as to what had happened to him. John had managed to stave him off by saying that it would be easier to tell his story once, and Lorne had nodded, obviously pleased with being the one to spring his discovery on the rest of the party.

The reactions were interesting. The team looked up at Lorne's announcement of "Look what I found..." where they had all been sitting under a pavilion enjoying the local fruits and bread. Rodney's mouth dropped open and then tightened in a thin line of disapproval.

"Where the hell have you been?" He snapped in the stunned silence that followed. "You look like total crap, you know that, right?"

"I missed you too, Rodney." John rolled his eyes.

Teyla leapt to her feet and ran over to him, gripping his arms firmly as she pressed her forehead to his own, Athosian style. He was startled, but before he could do more than pull back and force a smile at her, Ronon swept him up in a bone-crushing embrace and Teyla fell back laughing.

"You're enjoying this, you bastard," John grunted in Ronon's chest and he felt Ronon snort appreciatively before closing his arms around John sufficiently to make vertebrae pop.

"Thanks, Ronon," John said, wincing and gingerly rotating his shoulder when the Satedan stepped back. "I won't need to see a chiropractor now."

"Yes, well. It's good to have you back." Rodney seemed flustered. "You know. As in not, well, you know, whatever. Colonel." Rodney's red-faced fumbling attempt to react normally had a ring of authenticity to it that carried the day, despite the slight hesitation when he called John by 'his' rank. John realized that had the Colonel truly returned from the dead, Rodney would have been just as unable to control his emotional nervousness. Teyla's eye made brief contact with John's just the same, before it slid away to watch Rodney again.

Lorne made short work of their mission there, pleading the excuse of needing to get back to the city as soon as possible but promising to return to complete their talks. The Kelmarians seemed as pleased as Lorne to learn that John was a long-lost, feared dead comrade and understood completely the desire to return to their 'village' and make news of the prodigal's return known.

John was offered the pilot's seat on the hopper, which he politely declined, mockingly stating that his skills were rusty and he preferred to be chauffeured home in style. He took the co-pilot's seat instead. Lorne's pleasure at the turn of events resulted in the normally somewhat taciturn man continuing to remark upon John's miraculous return as he piloted the hopper towards the Gate.

"I hope you're up for the party to end all parties, sir, because there are going to be a lot of people happy to see you," Lorne said as the hopper entered the upper atmosphere.

"Yeah about that, Lorne." John took a deep breath. "See, I'm not exactly Colonel Sheppard."

"Goddamn it, John!" Rodney exploded from the back, "Are you constitutionally incapable of following a set plan without some alteration on your part? You do know what the word 'plan' means, don't you? How did you ever even make it to major? I presume the military takes a dim view of unilateral changes in plans on the part of their personnel. After all the work we put into this..."

"Rodney." John's tone was unconsciously commanding, causing Rodney to shut up abruptly. "He's acting military CO of Atlantis. He needs to know. He deserves to know."

"Yes, right and as such has the power to throw you into the brig for impersonating an officer! A fat lot of good you'll do us there!" Rodney never shut up for very long.

"Not without having to throw the entire command staff in the brig as well and I'm betting he won't do that, right Lorne?" John looked over to the pilot's chair, where Lorne was sitting stiffly, eyes wide, one hand on his holstered weapon.

"Jay's right. Lorne needs to know." Ronon's rumble filled the small space inside the hopper.

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?" Lorne's question sounded calm, despite the tension in his body.

"Rodney went through the quantum mirror and brought me back from an alternative universe." John was interested to note that the tension in Lorne's posture lessened slightly at the information.

"And who else knows about this, besides the people in this hopper?"

John tried not to smile at the fact that the term 'hopper' seemed to have universally caught on. Instead he concentrated on the question at hand. "Elizabeth, Carson and Radek. That's all."

Lorne cut his eyes over to John with raised eyebrows and then turned back to the viewscreen in front of him to curse colorfully and inventively. John was impressed with the fact that for at least the first 10 seconds, Lorne did not repeat himself at all. Finally he wound down. John noted he laid in a course for a geosynchronous orbit and placed the ship on autopilot before turning to speak to the group.

"Thank you very much for making me an accessory after the fact to your little scheme. Mind filling me in on exactly your plan is?"

John sat quietly while explanations ensued, Rodney's virulent and explosive commentary being supplemented by T's additional, placating remarks. Lorne's glance kept coming back to rest on his face and he tried to be reassuringly non-threatening. When all the questions had been asked and answered, John spoke again.

"It's for this one mission only, Lorne. You guys need the ZPMs. The Tenee will only deal with Sheppard. I'll do my part and be out of your hair by the end of the week."

"Caldwell would never support such a deception and you know it, Major," Rodney chimed in suddenly. "He would insist on handling the negotiations himself on his return and we can't afford to lose these ZedPMs."

"And then what?" Lorne asked sharply. "We hold another memorial service for John Sheppard?" He turned in his seat to glare at first Rodney, then back at John. "Or didn't you guys think about what kind of impact this would have on everyone else?" John gave a little helpless shrug, mouth open as though to speak but having nothing to say to make things better. I didn't know you guys then. Lorne sat in silence, drumming his fingers along his knee.

"The ball's in your court, Evan." John said, rolling the dice one more time, taking a chance by using the man's first name. "You can denounce me, but not without implicating the entire command staff. If you go along with the deception, then no one outside of this hopper need know that you had any prior knowledge of the subterfuge. I hate like hell to put you in this position, but I'm not going to ask you to put your career on the line over this."

"It wasn't like you to turn down a chance to fly. I wondered about that." Lorne gave him a long, hard look. "You didn't have to tell me anything at all."

"No." John calmly returned his gaze.

Lorne swung round to snort at Rodney. "He's good. I hope you know what you're doing." He turned back to the control panel and began altering the course for the Gate.

"Yeah. Me too." Rodney's tone was sour and he was shooting daggers at John from where he sat.

"So, Ronon." John pointedly ignored Rodney in the silence that ensued and picked another hornet's nest to rattle. "So you're calling me 'Jay' now?"

Ronon shrugged. "McKay won't let me call you 'Home Depot'."

John burst out laughing.

***

Lorne had been right. The hoopla surrounding the miraculous return from the dead of Colonel Sheppard had caused a major buzz through the city and after the perfunctory exam that Carson had given him, John found out the true definition of hell. Though really it had started with Elizabeth meeting them in the hopper bay to give him one of her patented 'little hugs' as Rodney called them; she'd stepped up quickly to embrace him as they all disembarked and after a moment's hesitation, he brought his hand up to brush her back.

After that it had been grins and squeals and unexpected, breath-stealing clutches everywhere he went. Faces open wide with delight, shoulder slaps and squeezes until he felt he could not bear it any longer. Only he could not get away. Over and over again he had to tell the story that they had finally devised, that he didn't recognize the people that had captured him but that they had a Wraith in containment as well and had threatened him with it before his escape. How and why his identification had ended up on a Wraith-fed corpse, he had no idea. He was astonished with the ease that the story was accepted and he realized in part it was because everyone wanted it to be true.

By the end of the impromptu party, he was feeling horribly guilty for everyone that he was deceiving and longed for the isolation to be found in his quarters. Finally, pleading exhaustion and the desire to take a long shower, he made his escape.

His previous diligent study of city schematics had him in front of the Colonel's door in no time. Hesitating only a moment, he unlocked the door with his mind (would that ever get old?) and entered.

The room had the stale quality of a place abandoned and John imagined he felt that same tension he'd perceived that first time he cleared the mirror as well. He walked around silently perusing the belongings of the dead man, lightly touching an object here or there, eyes drawn to photographs of familiar faces in poses he'd never seen. He found himself wondering about Rodney's insistence that nothing of the Colonel's be packed until the Icarus returned. Rodney must have planned from the very beginning to bring a substitute 'Colonel' in from another universe. No, it was more likely that he refused to accept the truth of what had occurred, until finally an alternative solution came to him from his obsession with the mirror.

Intent on ignoring his unease, John shed the native clothing and took a long shower, finding his kit in the bathroom (someone had been busy in his absence) and deciding to shave his days-old beard with a sense of relief. When he came back into the main quarters to get dressed, the sense of oppression gathered around him again. Quickly dressing in a t-shirt and BDU pants, he sat down heavily on the end of the bed.

"I'm sorry," he said aloud. "Seriously. I know I'm not the one you really want. I'm not the one anyone really wants. I'm not even sure why I'm here. But I'm here now and I have to make the best of it."

The tension suddenly disappeared and John felt himself letting out the breath he did not know he'd been holding. A small wall panel opened beside the bed, its location formerly invisible to the eye. Cautiously, John stood up and went over to it. Peering inside, he extracted several thin composition notebooks. The uppermost book was only partially filled, his own sprawling handwriting staring back at him, the last entry shortly before the Colonel's death. Behind the books in the alcove was a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. Pouring himself a drink, he selected the oldest notebook and began to read, some passages leaping up off the page and staying with him even after he moved on to another section.

Excerpts from Lt. Colonel John Sheppard's journal:

I just want to state for the record, this is not a diary!

I got in the habit of keeping a journal during my time at McMurdo. Not that there was much to write about. McMurdo was mostly about being in limbo. (I used to refer to it as Purgatory. Lt. Canning asked me once why I didn't just call it Hell—I explained to him because you got to leave Purgatory—eventually). Still, I got into the habit of jotting down a few lines here and there (Christ, I had to have something to do) and it only seemed to make sense to keep it up here. Because here...here is something totally different altogether. Paper is in short supply though, and I couldn't bring my old journals with me. I snagged a few of these composition notebooks from McKay (he's the head geek here). I'm guessing he'll notice, but not have a clue who took them or why. Hah.

~*~

We are so fucked. In just the short time we've been here, we've discovered that the city is almost out of power (leaving us totally defenseless but hey, at least we're not on the bottom of the ocean floor anymore) and we've lost the CO, putting me in charge. And somewhere along the way, I managed to wake an entire fucking Vampire Nation. Said energy sucking vampires hibernate for a several generations at a time, so as not to deplete the local food source (that would be us people). But hey, not only did I wake them up, but they seem thrilled at the idea of a whole other galaxy of edible people to harvest, so it will only be a matter of time before they come for the only portal that can take them there—the Gate on Atlantis.

Have I mentioned we're fucked?

So not only are the Wraith (yes, that's what they are called, just peachy, huh?) on the move at least 50 years ahead of schedule and we are sitting in a practically defenseless city, but I am responsible for the billions of lives that I've put at risk, both here and back home. Great, I've managed to destroy two galaxies at once. A small part of me is just a bit curious as to what the Wraith will make of the Goa'uld, but after what I've seen today, I'm thinking it's no contest. Sumner was begging me to kill him. I had to do it. But I wish to god he was here now.

I stood on one of the balconies a long time tonight. God, what a beautiful city. It was really hard standing there, knowing I had doomed the city and everyone in it. I've never been closer to eating my own gun as I was tonight. But even though I know I can't fix this, I can't give up either. I mustn't let this city fall. I can't let the Wraith gain access to Earth.

You know, if you keep repeating 'you're so fucked' often enough, it starts to become funny.

~*~

God, McKay is an ass. An overbearing, egotistical, loud, obnoxious pain in my ass. But smart. Scary smart. He's already pulled some fast ones out of his hat and saved our butts a few times. And he makes me laugh. I'm betting he doesn't have many friends, though.

~*~

I wonder if Elizabeth (Dr. Weir) lies awake at night and wonders 'what the fuck have I gotten myself into?' She doesn't call me by my rank (unless she's mad with me), but she acts like she has the utmost confidence in my ability to lead the military portion of this expedition. Did she miss the memo on the whole waking the Vampire Nation thing? I'm going to have to watch my step around her. She sees more than she lets on. She also has the gift of not only ignoring the elephant in the room, but doing it convincingly as well. Must be a diplomat thing.

~*~

Hah. McKay found a game in the database that's like a combination of SimCity and Risk. I am so gonna kick his ass...

~*~

Teyla is the most amazing woman ever. She's beautiful (and that's saying something here, damn, this is like the Galaxy of Pretty People), smart and a kick-ass fighter. Tough. Wise too. Like she's been melted down and tested and forged again and again until only the purest, finest, most durable substance remains. I'm really attracted to her but somehow we've moved past that. I'm not really sure how. One day I woke up and Teyla was family.

~*~

Aiden Ford's a good kid. Funny how he seems like a boy to me now. He's a marine, he's a lieutenant, he's an adult. I was younger than him when I entered the Air Force and I thought I was such a hot shot. He looks up to me for some reason. I don't want to let him down.

~*~

Ol' Doc Beckett is an odd duck. He's so afraid of his own ATA gene—he doesn't want to have anything to do with any Ancient technology. He's a sensitive soul too—almost too compassionate for his own good. Not exactly what I would consider a brave man. But place him in a medical situation and the man's a rock. Mountains would be easier to move than Carson Beckett when it came between him and a patient's life. I may be the worst patient ever, but I'm glad he's in charge of the infirmary whenever we come limping home.

~*~

Zelenka's an okay guy. He's sharp—he can think almost as fast on his feet as McKay. I think Rodney fumbles over his name on purpose. It nearly killed me today to hear him yelling in his little Czech accent "ZEH-LINK-AH! Smartest man in two galaxies, or so you say, and you cannot remember my name!"

~*~

For a man who acts like everything in the universe is out to kill him personally, Rodney is has an odd streak of bravery running through his yellow hide. You gotta admire a guy for screwing up his courage to the sticking point and wading into the problem at hand, when every instinct is telling him to run away. When push comes to shove, Nike's got nothing on one Rodney McKay, astrophysicist. I have a sneaking suspicion that he likes me more than, strictly speaking, he should. I can't help that. I like him too. But I can't act upon it. I can't add that to the list of my many mistakes here as well.

~*~

It was supposed to be a geek run. A simple little scientific exploration. But instead we find the UberWraith. We lost Gaul. We lost Abrahms. We lost Ford. Kids, all of them. Aged into withered husks. All because I wanted to explore the downed hive ship, hoping for some useful intel.

I almost got to watch Rodney die too. He showed up at the last minute with nothing but a handgun that he barely knew how to use and set about emptying his clip into the Wraith as it was advancing on my position. Reloading with shaking hands when the Wraith turned its attention towards him. If it hadn't been for Elizabeth and her 'bad feeling' sending a ship after us hours ahead of schedule, Rodney would have died there and I would have followed shortly. I would have deserved it too. I still do. Someday, I will end up dying at the hand of the Wraith, I feel it in my bones. But I will take as many with me as I can.

Rodney barely said two words the whole, long trip home. He looked shattered. I couldn't speak either.

God, Aiden. I am so sorry.

~*~

The Wraith are coming. Long-range sensors indicate they are only a few weeks out. I have no real means of defending the city. But defend it, I will.

~*~

Everett is a jerk. He doesn't have a clue what he's up against. Like the best and the brightest of the Marines are somehow a more superior fighting force than the entire Ancient civilization? He won't listen to me because he blames me for Sumner's death. Anything I say just makes things worse. I have to sit here and say nothing instead. But saying nothing and doing nothing are two totally different things...

~*~

I should be dead. But not only did I survive the suicide run, but the city was saved after all (though that was Rodney's doing) and not only that, but somehow I ended up with a promotion and am still the military CO here. How's that for irony? I should be court-martialed and instead they're treating me like a fucking hero. I can't let them down. I owe them. I owe every person that has died since this whole mess started. I owe Aiden. Rodney's pissed with me. For some reason, this seems like the only right and normal reaction in the universe.

~*~

Picked up a stranger today. Found him injured on a planet and shortly afterwards, the Wraith arrived. We loaded him up in a ship and took off for the gate, only to have him tell us that he was being tracked and to dump him or the Wraith would follow us back to the city. Rodney did a little fancy gate sequence thing (I was a little busy avoiding the Darts behind us to pay too much attention), managing to redial the gate for an outgoing wormhole before the Wraith could follow or open a gate of their own. We went through several gates in rapid succession and then landed and radioed for someone to send Carson in another ship. Doc carved the microchip out of the Runner's back (that's what Teyla called him, said the Wraith would tag people and hunt them for sport—lovely!) and we took him back to Atlantis. I don't think Elizabeth was too pleased with my latest stray. When I asked if we could keep him, she said to make sure he didn't kill us first. I say anyone who can outrun and outfight the Wraith all on his own for six or seven years is someone I want on my team, whether or not he tries to kill me. We should make him a t-shirt: Survivor: Pegasus Galaxy.

Maybe I can get Doc to tranq him for a few days first...especially if I suggest it's for Ronon's own good...

~*~

I've got the best team in the world. The strongest, the smartest, the bravest, the toughest. They make me feel like a leader. They make me feel like I'm not alone in this goddamned mess. I am the luckiest damn bastard in the universe.

~*~

It was very late when John finally read the last entry in the final journal. Shit. He had to stay now. There was no way he could simply go back home and forget about everything here in Atlantis. He owed it to Rodney and Elizabeth and T and everyone here for all they had already gone through and fought to protect. He owed it to his other self, who had died for it. Somehow it seemed really important that he go tell Rodney of his decision to stay right away, despite the fact that his head swam a little when he bent over to put shove sock-less feet into his boots.

***

When the door chimed, Rodney spared a quick glance at his watch, and then frowned, wondering who was coming by his quarters at this hour of the night when they could just as easily radio him to inform him of whatever latest crisis was taking place. Anyone who knew him knew he was not likely to be asleep yet anyway. He opened the door to discover John leaning against the doorframe, wearing his usual t-shirt and BDUs. He looked so much like the Colonel that for an instant, Rodney had the weirdest sense of deja-vu; that the clock had rolled back to the end of the first year and the Colonel had come to tell him that the Wraith had been spotted on the long-range scanners. Then he noted the unlaced boots and the half-empty bottle of tequila that John held by the neck. Oh shit.

"It's all your fault." John pointed the bottom of the bottle of tequila at Rodney, appeared to notice that he was holding it and took a swig straight from it, making a small face as he swallowed. He pushed his way into the room, his bootlaces flapping with his movement.

Rodney let the door shut behind them as he followed John into his quarters. Great. Of all the times to have a freak out and revert to type...well, at least it happened before Caldwell returned.

"My fault?" Rodney prompted, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh.

"Yup. Your fault." John turned to face him when he reached the center of the room, the bottle in his hand swinging for either balance or emphasis, Rodney wasn't certain. "You planned this from the very beginning, didn't you?" His voice turned silky and Rodney felt a frisson of unease as he watched John carefully place the bottle on a nearby table and look up at him again.

"You knew this would happen. That I would get here and realize I could never leave. That I had to stay. That I would be obligated to stay."

Rodney swallowed hard. "Um, yes, well, I would be lying if I said that I wasn't hoping for something like that to occur. Because Atlantis really does need a John Sheppard. But I really didn't think you'd figure it out, which is really pretty arrogant on my part because, hey, I know you're not stupid, but somehow I just figured you'd just want to stay. And that would be the end of it. You shouldn't let Lorne get to you." Rodney finished up lamely, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Lorne?" John's voice was sharp, like a cracking whip. "You think this has something to do with Lorne?"

Rodney was still formulating a 'well, doesn't it?' response when John stalked over to him and pulled Rodney into his chest by fisting his shirt. The shock of the action caused Rodney's mouth to open in surprise and he inhaled suddenly at the fierceness of John's mouth on his lips. Pushing back sharply, he put some space between them, though John still had him by the shirt.

"Well, you've got me now, Rodney." He stepped closer into Rodney's space again. The hand in Rodney's shirt unclenched to slide up to the back of his neck. He moved his other hand to Rodney's waist and brought their hips together in sudden contact. "Because I don't exist any more. You've turned me into him."

"J-J-John," Rodney stammered out breathlessly. "Um, we don't, that is, the Colonel and I didn't, well, we didn't have that kind of relationship."

"Precisely," John said with the overly clear enunciation of someone who might have had a little too much to drink.

Rodney shivered as the warmth of John's breath ghosted over the skin on his neck and he turned his face willingly into the next searing kiss when it came. He felt like he was on sensory overload. The heat of John's body pressing up against him, the clean scent of soap on his skin, the warm slide of his tongue into Rodney's mouth, the sharp bite of tequila lingering in his mouth, the feel of John's hands moving restlessly on his body—it was overwhelming. Rodney opened his mouth and drank John in, hands gripping him by the sides of his face, breaking off the kiss only to lip and suck at John's neck, reveling in the way this caused John to push up against him.

Just as suddenly as it started, John stepped back. They stood facing each other, breathing hard as John pulled off his t-shirt and kicked off his boots. Not taking his eyes off Rodney, he began to unfasten his BDUs. The remnants of the black eye that Ronon had given him just made him look more disreputable and hungry somehow. Rodney was taken immediately back to that night in the hotel room, when John had stood in half-unbuttoned jeans, wearing a 'well, are you going to fuck me or not?' look. It was the look of the loser, the loner, the predator, the gambler. The look he wore now.

Rodney stepped forward as John got his pants opened and sliding his hands sensuously down John's body, he sank to his knees as he pulled John's pants down over his narrow hips. He had a passing thought for Ronon (hah, not soft now, buddy) as he ran his hands over John's hipbones, tugging the pants down and off over each foot. John planted his feet slightly wider apart after Rodney got the pants completely off, balancing his hands on Rodney's shoulders as he shifted his weight. Rodney ran his hands caressingly back up the sides of John's legs and chuckled when John's pelvis bucked involuntarily towards him. His eyes closed briefly when John's lean fingers wove their way into his hair, and then he looked up to see John staring down at him through half-closed eyes, a faint hazel glitter underneath his lids.

John's cock was half-erect, starting to lift up out of the dark patch of hair that had nearly driven Rodney insane when he'd caught a glimpse of it peeking through those jeans on that first night. Carefully, Rodney grasped John by his shaft, stroking with increasing confidence from base to tip, bending his head to take it into his mouth. John's hands tightened suddenly in his hair and he felt himself being pulled back. "Jesus, Rodney, I'm sorry." Rodney was surprised to see John looking down at him with a worried expression. "I didn't think. Have you got any condoms?"

Rodney blinked. "Right. Condoms." Did he have any condoms? If he didn't (and he was pretty sure he did not), he hadn't a clue where he would get any at this time of night. He supposed that Carson would have some in the infirmary...yes, he was bound to, but then Carson was not necessarily on duty and Rodney could not decide what was worse, the thought of Carson nudging him and giving him a wink or some night nurse smirking at him and asking him who was the lucky girl? The very idea had him blushing so hard he could feel his cheeks burning. "Right. Condoms." Rodney repeated as he got to his feet and stumbled towards the nightstand, pulling the drawer out too quickly and spilling the contents of the drawer onto the floor. He dove on the items, back on his hands and knees as he pawed through them on the floor and began shoveling them back in the drawer.

John came over to stand next to him. "Can I help?" He spoke matter-of-factly, as though he were enquiring about a particular project Rodney was working on down in the labs. Rodney lifted his head to glare at him, only to discover he was at eye level with John's dick. John's very happy dick.

"You. Are. Distracting. Me." Rodney enunciated in a somewhat strangled tone and he wondered briefly if this was a good moment to hit the tequila himself. He looked away hastily and went back to perusing the contents of the drawer. Shit. No condoms. He pushed himself up to his feet. "I'll be right back," he started before turning and bumping into John.

John gripped both of his arms to steady him, giving him a wicked grin at the same time. Rodney felt his mouth twist in a lopsided grin back and then found his eyes tracking down John's chest, following the dark line of his hair where it trailed down his belly and ended at his groin. John's fingers began to move in small circles up and down his arms and Rodney was tempted to sway into his touch. Something about John's nakedness while he was still clothed was very, very hot and Rodney thought maybe his brain was starting to melt down. He licked his lips and spoke quickly, before he lost his nerve.

"You know, everyone got checked out on the expedition before we arrived. My social life here has been astonishingly non-existent—if I were any cleaner, I'd be a minor deity. And I know you checked out because Carson ran a whole battery of tests when you first got here. So you know, the whole condom thing...I mean, I can get some if you really...you know what? I'll just head down to the infirmary..."

John shut him up with a kiss. When he pulled back, Rodney opened his mouth to speak again, only to feel the steady pressure of John's hands on his shoulders. He took the hint and slid down to his knees again, shutting out the thought that they were going to kill him in the morning and instead letting John's scent fill his nostrils as he rubbed his face down John's abdomen until he was at his groin again. He closed his mouth around John's dick and began to mouth and suck with enthusiasm, feeling John get increasingly hard, steadying him with hands on his hips and thrilling to the trembling he could feel in John's thighs. When John began to thrust into his mouth, he held on to his cock with one hand to keep from choking and leaned into John's legs, taking his weight and push and thrust until he felt John suddenly go still. With an intake of breath, John's cock began to pulse in his mouth, filling it with salty fluid.

Rodney creaked to his feet slowly and had to laugh as John half-slumped into his arms. He embraced him solidly, nuzzling at John's neck all the while walking him backwards the few steps towards the bed. When John's legs backed up against the end of the bed, he sat down, allowing himself to fall backwards with a smile, arms flung out over his head. Rodney could see the marks of fading bruises from the fight with Ronon along his ribcage and a spattering along his arms and legs as well. Something about the contrast between the lightly tanned skin and the dark hair on his chest and underneath his arms was mesmerizing. That and the way his muscles contracted and expanded with each breath that he took. It took Rodney a moment to realize he was staring. John smiled lazily up at him.

"How come you're still dressed?" He rolled over onto his stomach, dragging himself further up on the bed by his elbows before allowing himself to collapse on it again. He lifted his ass slightly and gave it a sharp smack on one butt cheek. "Have at it, Rodney, it's all yours." He looked over his shoulder, sly grin in place, to see Rodney's reaction.

"Shit!" It was either his use of the word itself or his clipped pronunciation of it that made John snicker; Rodney was not sure which. He divested himself of his clothing with astonishing speed and then went back to the nightstand, fumbling through the scrambled contents of the drawer and triumphantly pulling out a tube of lube before crawling up to straddle John's thighs.

John looked saucily over his shoulder again. "You don't have condoms, but you have lube?"

"Me, myself and I do not need condoms," Rodney huffed, hands shaking as he snapped open the tube and squirted lube out into his palm. "But lube always comes in handy."

John snorted with laughter and turned his head into the pillow to muffle it. Rodney had to laugh himself when he realized exactly what he'd said. "You have such a juvenile sense of humor," he complained without heat, running one hand down the small of John's back and out over his muscular ass. He used the other hand to simultaneously circle John's hole with his finger before John could reply.

John's groan and fisting of the bedclothes was almost enough to make Rodney come right then. He worked his well-lubed finger into John's ass, noting that this was undoubtedly not the first time John had experienced this. John grunted and shoved back against his hand and Rodney added a second finger, twisting and scissoring as he did so. John levered himself up on his hands and knees, his head hanging down low as he pushed himself back against Rodney. He wasn't going to last long at this rate. Not after so long without contact from anything other than his own hand. Not after having wanted this for so long. Rodney shut that thought away and continued to finger fuck John.

"Jeez, Rodney," John groaned, clenching around his fingers. "Now,for god's sake."

Rodney hastily lubed up his cock, and aligning it with John, pressed in deeply. The two of them let out simultaneous groans as the head of Rodney's cock slid into the tight space that was John, and Rodney folded himself down over John's back, resting his forehead against him while he panted and fought for control. Slowly he pulled back and thrust forward, a cautious movement of his hips. John made a low growling noise and pushed back hard and that was all it took. Rodney began to thrust in earnest, each push eliciting a grunt from John. Rodney's hands wandered over John's body, trying to touch as much as he could, alternating the hand he used to brace himself upright with the hand that explored every plane of muscle, the hard edge of a sensitive nipple, the curves of John's shoulders, sliding easily in the light sheen of sweat on John's skin. Rodney could feel it deep in his back, the way he arched and thrust into John's willing body. One of his hands followed the line of John's shoulder out to his own hand where it clutched at the bed sheets. Reaching John's fingers, Rodney allowed his fingers to entwine with John's. The grip was accepted and returned. All too soon he felt the tension build in his thighs, forcing him to press inward and buck uncontrollably as he came. The two of them collapsed on the bed. Rodney did not stay too long in his position, concerned about crushing John beneath him. John made a small sound of loss as Rodney withdrew from his body and rolled aside on the narrow mattress.

Ohmygod. That was amazing. Rodney thought about saying as much, thought about telling John how much this meant to him; he was just going to rest here a moment and catch his breath before doing exactly that. Sleep overcame him before he could form a rational sentence. And in the morning, John was gone.

Rodney naturally went looking for him. But over the course of the next few days, he never could seem to catch up with him. He was either out on the east pier assisting Radek, or down in the armory or putting in some flight time or off on the mainland with Teyla to see the Athosians. Rodney saw him at breakfast one day, fresh from a run with Ronon, smile coolly amused and one sardonic eyebrow in place. He caught a glimpse of chain around his neck and realized with a shock that he was wearing the Colonel's dog tags. With a sudden flash of intuition, the kind he received almost daily in the labs but never regarding another human being, Rodney realized that John was gone. There was only the Colonel left.

Rodney stopped looking for him.

***

"Sooooo," John drawled slowly at the man pointing the gun at his abdomen, "I guess this means that there never were any ZPMs after all?"

"We regret the subterfuge," said Joraz, the leader of the Tenee, not sounding particularly regretful at all. "However it was necessary to fulfill our contract. Imagine our surprise when your leader offered to send you once again to negotiate for the power units. Very distressing to be sure. We thought we had carried out our end of the arrangement, only to discover that you were still alive. Not that your being alive is our fault in any way, you understand."

"Quite." John kept his tone in the same light, conversational vein as he sat at the long wooden table in the shuttered room. Shortly after the team arrived on Tenin, John had been whisked away by the Tenee council. When the rest of the team protested at the enforced separation, the Tenee had produced weapons and disarmed them. Now the team was off somewhere in a holding cell (he hoped) while he had been marched down a series of long, cool hallways within a cavernous stone building and placed in this room. He had a very bad feeling about this.

"But just so that we're all on the same page here," John continued causally, after noting that there was only one exit from the room, that the narrow windows were too small to permit escape and that the men holding him prisoner were very well armed, "your role in this was to bait a trap for my team?"

"The rest of your people are incidental. The trap was meant for you alone. Although now that your team is aware of the details, I'm afraid we will be unable to release them this time. Had the previous arrangement worked out satisfactorily, your people would have simply thought of us as one of those strange societies with odd cultural taboos." The robed man shrugged, the end of the pistol flicking negligently in John's direction. "I regret that we are forced to take this action in neutralizing them as well, but we have contractual obligations to fill, you see."

"Perhaps we could make you a counter offer." John wasn't sure where the words were coming from, or the smoothness of their delivery. He suddenly realized the true meaning of 'high stakes poker' and he had to stifle an inappropriate grin.

Something of his amusement must have leaked through, because Joraz cocked his head and said thoughtfully, "I would be very much interested to know in how you survived the previous encounter."

"So would I." The voice came from the door, where a figure in black stood in the opening. All heads turned to watch the man enter the room, his long leather coat swirling around his legs as he moved.

John looked at him curiously, noting the way the Tenee melted back from his presence, dropping their faces in respect as he passed them without acknowledgment. He came to a halt on the other side of the table facing John. Eyes so dark they appeared black bored into John from under a raven's wing of hair falling across his forehead, his strong jaw working with some unknown emotion as he stared disbelievingly into John's face. John slid an elbow back against the top of his chair, leaning with studied boredom into it. "And you would be?"

The man frowned. "I am Kolya." He paused, obviously waiting for John to acknowledge the significance of his announcement. "I am Octavus Kolya." He leaned in menacingly across the table, placing a hand on its surface as he did so. "Don't you know me?"

"Should I?" John drawled. The name sounded slightly familiar and he wracked his brains trying to remember where he'd heard it before, to no avail.

The man straightened suddenly. "You should. I am the man who killed you six weeks ago."

Ouch. John sat up in his chair. "Look, if it's about those unpaid parking tickets..." he began in mock earnestness.

The man in black took the weapon from the Tenee leader and moved purposefully around to John's side of the table, pressing the gun against John's temple and giving it a hard push as John moved as though to rise from his seat. "You act like you do not know who I am." There was a dispassionate curiosity in the man's voice as he spoke. "Let me refresh your memory. I am the son of Acastus Kolya, whom you murdered." He spoke the final words in a hiss as he leaned closer into John's ear, pushing against his head with the barrel of the gun again.

Kolya. That was it, the name of the Genii commander that attempted to invade Atlantis during the first year. The Colonel had single-handedly stopped the invasion against all odds and killed the commander as he tried to escape through the Gate with Rodney and Elizabeth as hostages. Oh great. I've been targeted by the Inigo Montoya of the Pegasus galaxy. Too bad Rodney couldn't have prepped him with that little piece of information. He pushed the thought of Rodney and the others away, thinking quickly. "Oh that," he said. "That wasn't me. That was the other one."

Octavus Kolya blinked, rising to his full height slowly. The gun was still firmly pressed into John's temple, but the pressure lessened slightly. "Explain." The word was cold.

John knew he only had one shot at this. "The other John Sheppard. Well, one of them anyway. I'm not sure which. I've got to be the forth or fifth one."

The Tenee looked uneasily at each other. Kolya never took his eyes off John's face, but John could read the beginnings of uncertainty there. He pulled the gun back from direct contact to wave the muzzle at John's head. "Go on."

"Well," John managed to give the word two syllables, "see, the first John Sheppard, or JS prime, as I like to think of him, he died along with everyone else when the shields failed on the city the first time. The second JS fell victim to an Iratus bug." He nodded at the sympathetic winces from the Tenee and made a face as well. "Let's see, the third JS went down in a flurry of arrows when the team went to a planet where the kids took the whole Peter Pan thing way too seriously and the forth one..." he paused, shaking a finger McKay style at Kolya. "I'm thinking it was the forth one you wanted...he ended up biting the dust when he flew a nuclear warhead into a hive ship. Yeah," he continued thoughtfully, ignoring the hiss of surprise by the Tenee listening in avid attention. "Timing-wise, it was the forth JS you wanted. The fifth one, well, the poor bastard had nothing to do with your father's death. Jeez, he'd only been around a year or so. I guess that makes me the sixth." He spread his hands slightly in a 'well there you have it' gesture.

"How is this possible?" Kolya snarled. His gun hand trembled ever so slightly.

"Well, the people from Earth get around. I mean, we're pretty techno-savy and we like our toys. We got the sarcophagus thingy from the Goa'uld, and the replicator stuff from the Asurans, so even if we have a little bit of DNA, we can resurrect or reconstruct just about anybody. There's some training involved, it's not like you have the original with all their memories intact, you know. Of course, the more material you have to work with, the more complete the copies are."

"Bring the other prisoners here!" Kolya demanded suddenly and after a nod to the guards, one of the Tenee 'council' left with them to get the rest of the team. Kolya went over to one of the shuttered windows and stood gazing sightlessly through a crack in the wooden panels out into the sunlit courtyard, the beam of light marking his face as he stood there. John tried not to hold his breath during the long wait. He found himself repeating a mantra to himself. Please let Rodney keep his mouth shut.

At long last, the others were herded into the room and pushed alongside one wall until everyone was within. Rodney was the last of the team to enter and when he saw Kolya, he said "oh fuck me," not quite sotto voice. Kolya's gun swerved and targeted Rodney's head unerringly.

"Now, I wouldn't do that if I were you," John drawled. "McKay's the only one that knows how to use the equipment."

"What equipment? Oh yes. Right. Equipment." Rodney floundered as Teyla elbowed him sharply.

"The resurrection equipment, Rodney," John said meaningfully. Rodney just gaped at him, and then snapped his mouth shut abruptly.

Kolya continued to aim the weapon at Rodney's head. "The Colonel here says that he is not really the original John Sheppard."

Rodney gave a patently obvious sigh of relief. "He said that? Oh good, so you know. Yes, well, right then. So no hard feelings and all, because well, he's not the man you want."

"I want proof." Kolya's gun hand swung until he was aiming at Teyla. His words were directed at John. "I want you to suffer as I have suffered."

"What? No!" Rodney shouted and tried to block Kolya's aim. John noted Ronon tensing to spring as he spoke again.

"I wouldn't do that either, Kolya." John never knew how he managed to sound ever so slightly amused. "That's Teyla prime and Ronon's kind of partial to her. You seriously don't want a hundred Ronons to come hunting you down. No one would ever find all the pieces."

Koyla looked askance at Ronon, who bared his teeth in a smile.

"You made multiple copies of him?" Kolya glanced over at John in disbelief.

"Well, despite the fact he'll eat you out of house and home, he's kinda handy in a fight and he really hates the Wraith." John shrugged. "I wouldn't get any ideas about shooting him either though, because, well, the Ronons take that sort of thing personally."

Kolya's gun hand swung back around full circle to point at John again. "Yeah," John nodded, resenting a bit the feeling of resignation. "If you want proof of the resurrecting capabilities of McKay's work, it'll have to be me again. But then, I'm the one you really want to kill, aren't I?"

"John..." Rodney made a strangled sound.

Kolya's face drew up in a snarl of rage. "You should be dead. I killed you. I fed you to the Wraith and I watched you die. All the while with that same smirk on your face and that same fucking indifference to whether you lived or not. Even when you were screaming in agony, you were still defiant to the end. What does it take for you to stay dead?" During his speech, Kolya's hand had dropped slightly, but now he raised his weapon and took aim.

At the same time, the entire Tenee contingent raised their weapons and pointed them at Koyla.

"What is this?" He glowered, still aiming at John.

"Octavus Kolya," Joraz said solemnly. "It is now obvious that the terms of our original contract were indeed fulfilled and that these people have been detained in error. Please lower your weapon.

"What? No!" He looked around the room wildly.

"Lower your weapon or my men will fire upon you."

Slowly, panting hard in anger, Kolya lowered his gun. A Tenee soldier stepped in and relinquished the weapon from his hand. Joraz jerked his thumb over his shoulder and the guards frog-marched Kolya, still protesting, out of the room.

The Tenee leader turned to the group. "We are sorry for any inconvenience you have experienced here today. You are free to go."

"What?" Rodney roared. "Any inconvenience? Are you insane? This man killed one of our friends and was going to kill another and you're just going to let him go?"

"Rodney," John began warningly.

"You!" Rodney pointed a livid finger at John. "I'll deal with you later. It's Kolya I want to talk about now." He turned back to Joraz. "You set us up and you helped this man capture, torture and kill one of our own. We want satisfaction. We want retribution."

Joraz inclined his head slightly. "You have grounds for redress here. If you like, you can choose to set up a contract on the life of Octavus Kolya..."

"Turn him over to me." Ronon's bass rumble silenced the room briefly.

"No. You know what? I'm the injured party here." All eyes turned to John as he spoke to Joraz.

Joraz seemed to be assessing John. "Kolya really did kill Colonel Sheppard as he states? You are indeed a different person than the one we met before?"

John briefly threw a hand up over his shoulder to forestall Rodney's outburst. "The Colonel Sheppard that came to your planet originally was killed by Kolya. I am his replacement. So the way I see it, you guys owe us one."

"Agreed." Joraz said quietly. "Terms?"

"We want Kolya to come back with us to stand trial," McKay snapped.

"Or not." Ronon cracked his knuckles suggestively.

"I say not." Teyla's cool agreement was startling, but John ignored them all.

"Kolya's not important." He locked eyes briefly with Rodney before speaking again. "I want a ZPM." John held the gaze of the Tenee leader until the robed man looked away.

"I regret that I cannot meet your terms. We do not have a ZPM."

"Then you will get one. You will actively hunt for a ZPM and when you find one, you will give it to us free and clear, because you owe us big time."

There was a long pause. Joraz held eye contact with John during this time before making a small sigh. "Agreed."

And maybe, just maybe, Rodney won't blow up your planet in the meantime...

***

The tension in the hopper on the return trip to Atlantis reminded John of the oppressive buildup to a summer thunderstorm. The team took their usual seats in silence, Rodney radiating a sort of irate intensity that made John want to slouch down in his chair and pretend he was not there while at the same time, on some deep level, it made him mad. Just what the hell did Rodney have to be so pissed about?

Rodney waited until the hopper had cleared the ground and was rising towards the upper atmosphere before he threw his first lightening bolt.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Rodney's thunderous tone came as no surprise—the fact that he waited as long as he did before the outburst was the real shocker. "Oh, you know what? Let me guess," he continued. "You weren't thinking. Because only someone who was making it up as he went along could possibly have hoped to create a believable story out of plotlines stolen from Battlestar Galactica and The Fifth Element."

John shot a look over at T, who was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, but she was having none of it, face turned towards the windshield, jaw tight with a self-contained anger, arms folded across her chest.

"Oh and like, 'no seriously, I'm from an alternative universe' would have been so much more plausible, Rodney." John's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Yes! Instead you had Kolya believing I'm some kind of mad scientist...that we have the capability of bringing people back from the dead." John did not have to be facing Rodney to picture his ire now; it rolled off of him in almost palpable waves of heat from where he sat behind John in the hopper. "Do you know how many people would kill to get their hands on that kind of technology? Oh hey, here's a thought...why not say you were a twin? Do you mean to say that simple, reasonable, realistic explanation never occurred to you?"

"You don't kill the only person capable of running the technology, McKay. If I was just some run of the mill genetic freak, he would have killed us all and been done with it." John snapped off the words abruptly. The hopper continued its smooth descent above the planet, the sky around them turning dark and lighting up with stars. It was a sight that made something in John's chest leap up to meet it...something that he never expected in his lifetime to see that was now his on a regular basis. A fierce joy rose within him with the steep incline of the hopper. The gate came into view and John headed for it at a speed that exceeded the recommended safety margins.

Without being told, T began to dial the coordinates for the city. As the hopper went on autopilot and lined up for the entrance to the gate, Rodney said, "Sure, spare the scientist—you never know when you might need him, but yes, you he can kill."

They cleared the event horizon into the city and John felt an internal sigh of relief that they had all made it back there again. That he had made it back there again. He felt a whisper of sensation across his brow, like the hand of his mother smoothing down a cowlick, and then it was gone, leaving him to think he must have imagined it.

Whatever it was, it steadied him. He waited calmly until the hopper had landed in the bay safely before turning in his seat to fully address the situation. "I don't know what you're complaining about. Everything worked out just fine."

"Only because the Tenee have a weird sense of business ethics. Especially since they seem to be coordinators for some sort of assassin's Guild. Kolya was this close to shooting you." Rodney pinched his index finger and thumb a micron apart and held them up in front of tightly twisted lips as he did so.

"I couldn't let him shoot any of you," John said tiredly. "I was the one he really wanted to shoot anyway. And I don't matter."

Teyla got up abruptly and closed the distance between her seat and his, cuffing him sharply on the back of the head.

"Ow! Hey! What's the big idea?" John found his eyes watering with the impact.

"That is for believing that we would not be affected by your death. I thought you were my friend, JohnSheppard." T turned smartly and headed for the rear compartment of the hopper, lowering the ramp by smacking the controls with one hand and exiting without another word.

"Teyla!" John called after her, rising to follow, only to have his exit blocked by Ronon, who filled the entire door to the rear compartment.

"Ronon," John said warningly. He was not in the mood for this right now.

Ronon merely smiled and placed his hand on John's chest, with only the tips of his fingers making contact in a way that reminded John of the Wraith's described feeding process. He gave a little push that sent John reeling back into the forward section of the hopper. "McKay wants to talk to you." Ronon grinned as he sealed the bulkhead doors.

"You're a prince, Ronon," John said to the closing doors. He expected Rodney to launch into him immediately, all bombast and vitriol and was surprised by the silence that ensued. As it stretched out between them, taut as a piano wire, John began to get a little uncomfortable, but still he could not turn and face Rodney.

"You're like a fucking chameleon," Rodney said at last, his voice quiet, almost contemplative.

John turned slowly from the door. Rodney remained in his seat behind the pilot's chair, facing the front of the hopper, looking down at his hands where they rested between his knees. "I kept thinking," he continued, one hand fluttering vaguely, "that if I found the right background, I could somehow make you visible again, but no matter how hard I tried, you were just gone. You disappeared."

"I'm not a chameleon, Rodney," John's voice was harsh, ragged. "I'm Colonel Sheppard's goddamned ghost."

Rodney turned his head to look up at him then, his blue eyes almost shocking in their intensity. "Is that what you think? I mean seriously, do you really think...?"

"What, Rodney? Do I really think what? That I am always going to be nothing but second best?" He gave a sharp laugh. "I don't know why I expected it to be any different here. It is the story of my life after all."

Rodney rose to his feet slowly. "Do you know how many universes I searched before deciding to approach you? I spent weeks scouring the universes, narrowing the parameters, venturing just far enough to set up a computer and search for a John Sheppard. In a frightening number of universes where there was no Stargate program, you weren't even alive. Do me a favor and stay off motorcycles, okay?"

He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding John of that first night back at the hotel. Then he looked up again, his blue eyes piercing John were he stood. "Of all the infinite combinations and possibilities, I chose you. Because even though, yes, Atlantis needed you—we needed you—I thought just maybe there was something in you that needed us."

John thought of the pull of homesickness he'd felt for the city he'd never seen and the sense of belonging to the team when he did not. He'd always prided himself on hiding his true feelings and it seemed patently unfair that apparently Rodney could read him like a book. He closed his eyes briefly and opened his mouth to respond, but Rodney wasn't done.

"I destroyed the quantum mirror."

It was the last thing he expected Rodney to say. "You did?" His voice did not come out in a squeak.

Rodney grinned momentarily as though it had just the same. Then his amused expression faded to be replaced with a worried one. "I hope you meant what you said about not going back. I mean, you were right about the inherent dangers of having such a portal to our universe and the more I thought about it the more I realized you were right and then when you said you weren't going back, or more precisely that you couldn't go back, well I took you at your word on that and..."

"Rodney," John interrupted the babble. "I'm supposed to be the military commander here—well, acting the part anyway. How could you not tell me about something like this until now?"

"You aren't just acting the part. As far as everyone here is concerned, you are the military CO. I told Elizabeth. I assumed she'd tell you. I don't know why she didn't...maybe she was concerned about your reaction to finding out you were stuck here. I couldn't find you to say good morning, let alone have any sort of briefing on the status of the quantum mirror." Something suspiciously like bitterness was audible in Rodney's voice. Some of his fury today made sense to John now. He must have felt something akin to panic when he realized that John Sheppard 2.0 was about to get shot at the hands of Kolya and there was no way of bringing another one into the universe. The least he could do was make Rodney understand he did not feel trapped here.

"I wasn't planning on leaving. It's okay."

"No, it's not okay," Rodney said frowning, the bite back in his voice. "You obviously still don't get it. I destroyed the mirror the morning after...your return to the city. I did it because you were right and because...well, because you're irreplaceable, Jay." He swallowed hard on the last word, turning a bright red as he spoke.

The temptation to say 'Rodney, you are such a girl,' was strong, very strong. But the use of his nickname caught him off guard, and then there was Rodney standing there with that look of fierce embarrassment combined with hope and desire and resignation and John found himself suddenly thinking, 'damn, that's hot.'

Something in his face must have given him away, or maybe Rodney was telepathic (hey, stranger things had been happening to him for some time now) but the next thing he knew, Rodney had closed the distance between them and they were kissing hard. It was like they were starving but the only thing that could sustain them was each other. There was an audible 'click' and then Rodney pulled back sharply to stare into John's eyes.

"Tell me you didn't just cloak the hopper."

The only answer he got was John's grin.

~fin~


End file.
